


A Road That's Built To Last

by twisting_vine_x



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Brief mention of prostitution, Canada, Fingering, First Kiss, First Time, Hitchhiking, Hitchhiking AU, Language, M/M, Road Trips, Romance, Safer Sex, Sexual Content, Sharing a Bed, Supernatural References, Top!Stiles, Vague references to Derek's sexual history (i.e. past dubcon), Vancouver, WIP - will add tags as I go, bottom!Derek, derek is still a werewolf, past canon character death, wolfing out a bit during sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-08
Updated: 2014-01-02
Packaged: 2017-12-04 16:58:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 23,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/712999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twisting_vine_x/pseuds/twisting_vine_x
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is driving the Trans-Canada highway, all the way from Toronto to Vancouver. He's always been told that it's a bad idea to pick up hitchhikers, but, somehow, he's still got someone riding shotgun with him, and he's starting to think it might be one of the best decisions he's made in a long time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Original prompt here: http://marguerite-26.livejournal.com/753686.html?thread=14753302#t14753302. 
> 
> Also, title comes from Gordon Lightfoot. ♥

See, thing is - Stiles knows better. Like - _really_ knows better. He's 147 pounds of pale skin and fragile bone, and he doesn't so much have a knife or, like, dog spray on him - let alone some kind of more powerful weapon - and the last thing he should be doing is picking up a hitchhiker who's built like a brick wall and looks angry enough to chew glass.  
  
And yet. Here he is. Leaning against his jeep and watching as the stranger comes out of the bar (there's a giant fake moose head above the door, and, honestly, at some point, Stiles wants to try to count how many moose-themed bars there are in Ontario alone), looking even surlier than he was when Stiles drove past him three kilometers back. He's wearing a leather jacket, has the most lickable stubble Stiles has ever seen, and his ragged old backpack looks like it's seen better days. He's also even more imposing up close - not to mention ridiculously attractive, which Stiles had only noticed in passing as he'd whizzed past him on the road - and Stiles knows he should really be talking himself out of this plan. He had passed the guy just on the outside of town, his thumb stuck out as he walked backwards down the highway, and Stiles had barely made it into town before he'd cursed himself and pulled over, trying to talk himself out of what was a stupid idea. An hour later, long after the guy's stumbled into town, grabbed some dinner, and made his way back out of the bar, Stiles is still here, and when the guy looks around - glaring at the mostly empty parking lot as though it's somehow done him personal insult - and then hefts his bag higher and starts to walk off into the darkness, Stiles just - can't quite stop his mouth in time.  
  
"Still looking for a ride?"  
  
The guy freezes, and then turns to look at him, and when Stiles doesn't quite stop a flush - good _god_ , it should be illegal to be that attractive - he finds himself grateful for the shitty street lights. It's a small town - the kind where there's only one major street through, part of the main highway, which is why Stiles was able to wait for this guy in the first place - and Stiles watches as the guy glances around the silent parking lot again, as though expecting a trap, before he returns to glaring at Stiles some more, and Stiles barely stops a sigh. Just his luck that he seems to have chosen the least communicative hitchhiker in the history of existence.  
  
"See, I passed you a few kilometers back, and I've been standing here for the past hour or so trying to talk myself out of this - it's like, rule #1 of road trips, that you never ever pick up hitchhikers - but, well - here I am. So. Still need a ride?"  
  
The guy stares at him for a moment longer, and then he just nods, and Stiles swallows hard and gestures at the passenger door. Tries to not think about what his father would have to say about this. Waits until the guy starts walking in his direction before he crosses the front of the jeep and slides into the driver's seat, sticking the key in the ignition just as Tall, Dark and Imposing slides in beside him and shuts the door, his bag landing on the floor with a thump.  
  
"So, where -"  
  
But that, of course, is the moment when his speakers blare to life as he turns the key, and Stiles can't quite stop a wince as _Never Give Up On The Good Times_ comes blaring out. Slaps a hand on the volume and turns it down to nothing - really fucking smooth, Stilinski - and then turns to see the guy watching him with his mouth hanging slightly open.  
  
"Hey, shut up. The Spice Girls are awesome."

The guy just stares some more, and then - incredibly, given that his default expression seemed to be glaring - his lips turn up ever so slightly at the edges, and Stiles flushes again, pointing a finger in his direction.  
  
"Not a word, big guy. My ride, my music."  
  
"Of course."  
  
"Oh, so you can talk, then."  
  
The glare is back immediately, and Stiles doesn't bother to bite down a grin as he guides them out of the parking lot. Bad idea or not, between this guy's apparent surliness and Stiles' naturally chatty state of existence, this next stretch of high way should prove to be interesting.  
  
"No, seriously, though. Where are you headed?"  
  
"Vancouver."  
  
"Well, no shit. Me too."  
  
He wants to slap a hand over his mouth the second its out - because, hell, it's many, many days to Vancouver, and what if he doesn't end up liking this guy? What if he wants to dump him off somewhere just over the border into Manitoba? - and the guy must be more perceptive than he is talkative, because his mouth presses a little bit tighter and the frown deepens a bit.  
  
"You don't need to take me all the way there, if you don't want to."  
  
"Yeah, well. We'll see if I end up liking you. If I do, you just might get lucky."  
  
And - yeah. That's definitely another moment of wanting to bite off his own tongue. Glances at the guy sitting beside him and sees that his eyebrows have gone up, and his lips are turning up at the edges again, a smirk that - unless Stiles is mistaken - looks somewhere between amused and smug, and god, nobody should be allowed to that attractive.  
  
"Oh, shut up. You know what I meant. What's your name, anyway?"  
  
"Derek."  
  
"Derek. Well, hello, Derek. I'm Stiles. Lovely to meet you."  
  
He sticks out his hand without thinking about it - keeps the other one on the wheel as he guides them down the street - and then nearly drives off the road at the hit of pure fucking lust that lances through him when Derek shakes his hand, his palm large and warm and pretty much perfect against Stiles', and - yeah. Stiles needs to get it together fast, or this is going to be one hell of a long trip.  
  
\- - -  
  
Somewhere between Kenora and Winnipeg, Stiles decides that not only would he like to jump Derek's bones - which, bad idea because a) for all that Stiles may have just had his eighteen birthday, he still hasn't managed to lose that pesky virginity thing yet, and he has a feeling that Derek would eat him alive, if he was even ever interested in Stiles, and b) hello, random hitchhiker off the side of the road, and even sleeping in the same room would be a bad idea - but he actually likes the guy, too.  
  
He doesn't talk that much - answers questions, if a little vaguely, when Stiles asks, but doesn't seem keen to start his own conversation - but he's also polite in his own surly kind of way, and the silences they fall into somehow don't seem strained, which is pretty damn impressive given that Stiles only met the guy a few hours ago. By the time they're just over the Manitoba border, pushing 11 pm - which means that Stiles has definitely been behind the wheel for longer than is probably a good plan - he's learned that Derek had been working at a bartender in Thunder Bay before that fell through and left him unable to cover his rent, and that he's heading out west to stay with his younger sister - Cora - and try to get a new life started, and it makes Stiles that much happier that he picked Derek up in the first place. Vancouver has been home for Stiles for a couple of years - ever since his father got transfered there - and if he can help Derek get a new start in such a gorgeous city, then that's just all kinds of awesome.  
  
It's a thought that's still on his mind when they pull into the parking lot of some shitty motel right off the highway - and oh my god, there's a fucking moose _again_ , massive and proud on the roof, and what is with Ontario, seriously? - and when Stiles turns the jeep off, Derek seems to fidget in his seat for a moment before he turns to Stiles, and Stiles really needs to stop thinking about all the places he wants that mouth to be on his body.  
  
"Will you - in the morning, I can be ready to leave whenever you - if you don't mind -"  
  
"Hey, yeah, no problem. You seem harmless enough. Haven't tried to take control of my jeep yet, and that's probably earned you a few more hundred miles, don't you think?"  
  
Stiles is grinning as he says it, but there's a flash of obvious relief across Derek's face before he nods and picks up his backpack from the floor, opening the door and going to slide out, and Stiles - finds himself frowning. Because how are they meant to get in touch, anyway?  
  
"I - do you have a cell, or something?"  
  
"I can meet you here."  
  
"I - alright. Shall we say ten? Not grossly early, but gives us lots of daylight."  
  
Derek just nods again, gives him a tight smile - barely a twitch of his lips - and then he's heading across the parking lot, bag hefted on his back, and Stiles watches him go. Gone to get a drink somewhere, maybe? Hit up a convenience store? And then Stiles shakes himself and gets his stuff together, slides out of the jeep and makes sure she's locked up tight. Wherever Derek wanders off to at night is none of his concern - it's not like they were going to be sharing a motel room, or anything, no matter what Stiles overactive imagination might have conjured - and he's pretty sure there's a bed and a shower with his name on it in this building.  
  
\- - -  
  
There is a shower, but - of course - it runs cold after the first two minutes, and Stiles ends up gritting his teeth and just baring it until he's clean enough to dash out of the shower and hide underneath the blankets. The room is warm, at least, and it doesn't take him long to drift off, images of the seemingly endless highway playing on a comforting loop in his mind.  
  
\- - -  
  
The next morning, Stiles wakes up much earlier than he had meant to - the alarm clock beside him is blinking an ugly 5 am at him - and he groans and buries his face into the pillow. Of all the times for his insomnia to act up, now - when he really needs to be rested for a long drive - is probably one of the worst, and he gives it a few more minutes of trying to get back to sleep before he mutters a curse, throws on a sweater - it might only be late August, but it's still chilly enough when the sun's not completely up - and grabs his room key.  
  
He ends up walking the length of the parking lot - is it actually a requirement of all shitty motels to have Christmas lights strung up the entire year round? - humming to himself and just enjoying the crisp air, and it's only when he reaches the end of the parking lot that he realizes that he seems to have stumbled onto someone's sleeping area. There's a bench with someone wrapped up in a sleeping bag, and Stiles feels something in his chest tug tight - because, hell, even if his shower was cold, he at least had a bed to sleep in - and he's just about to move away and give the guy some peace when he realizes exactly what he's seeing. And then it's probably a full minute of him outright gaping before he's stalking over and standing over the guy, fighting the urge to actually put his hands on his hips, because seriously, what the ever loving hell?  
  
"Seriously, man. What the hell?"  
  
Derek doesn't wake up the way Stiles might have expected - he neither blinks his way to groggy consciousness, nor jerks and flails around the way Stiles might have done - but his eyes immediately slide open in a way that makes Stiles feel pinned to the spot, and he falters for a second before he remembers that this is _so not okay_.  
  
"Actually, though. What are you doing?"  
  
"I think that should be obvious."  
  
"Oh, hah hah. Such a funny guy. Why the hell -"  
  
"I can't afford a Greyhound ticket. You think I can pay for motel rooms?"  
  
He doesn't say it like there's anything wrong with that statement - he's pushing himself up, actually, hair all mussed up everywhere, and the adorableness of that can't even be ruined by the way he's glaring at Stiles - and Stiles gapes for a second longer before he actually throws his hands up.  
  
"Well, you could have said something! I'd have -"  
  
"What? Paid for my own room? Let me stay in yours?"  
  
"Well, I wouldn't have made you sleep on a bench, that's for sure!"  
  
He realizes his voice has gotten a little high, and he deliberately takes a breath to calm down, massages the tension from his eyes and takes his hands away to find that Derek is still just glaring at him, and Stiles just - this is so not on. He doesn't care if he barely knows the guy. If they're traveling together, Derek's not sleeping on fucking benches.  
  
"Look - come on. It's cold. We can -"  
  
"I don't need - cold doesn't affect me. I have my sleeping bag."  
  
"You also have a guy who's gotten offered scholarships to every school he's applied at, so, just - come with me, please? You can have my room for now - I can't sleep, anyway. We can figure out the rest later."  
  
At that, Derek stares at him for a little bit longer, and then it's like Stiles is actually watching him grind his teeth together as he slides out of his sleeping bag and gathers up his stuff, and - yeah. Stiles gets it. He wouldn't much like the idea of charity, either, if he was in Derek's position, even if it's better than sleeping on a bench, and the walk back is the first strained silence they've had yet. By the time Stiles has unlocked the door and Derek's dumped his stuff on the floor and climbed into the bed - looking way too fucking good there, dear god, even if he's ramrod stiff and looks utterly uncomfortable - Stiles can feel his own teeth grinding, and he slumps down on a chair and glares in Derek's direction.  
  
"Look, mister. It's just a bed. I'm not gonna kill you while you sleep, alright?"  
  
That earns him a snort, at least - which is good, even if it sounds derisive, which is a little insulting, because hey, Stiles might be about half Derek's size, but he could so get the upper-hand as long as Derek was asleep - and something in him relaxes a little when Derek closes his eyes and seems to squirm a little deeper into the pillow, and Stiles can't help but wonder how long it's been since the guy slept in a decent bed. Pulls out a copy of _The Silmarillion_ from his bag, picks up a pen, and then does his best to focus on the words and not stare at Derek - seriously, though, he looks way too damn good in Stiles' bed - as the minutes start to slip by, with nothing but the sound of Derek's soft breathing to break the silence.  
  
\- - -  
  
By the time they get on the road again - not long after ten, and Stiles knows he's going to spend the day trying to keep from yawning - Derek seems to have mellowed out a bit, and Stiles give it until they've been driving for about half hour - no noise but the sound of the wind through the windows, and it's still somehow not awkward - before he gives it a try.

"I mean it, you know. Benches are not okay as sleeping spaces."

"I can't ask you to -"

"You're not. I'm offering."

"You barely know me."

"Don't care. You can - I dunno. Find some way to pay me back, if it makes you feel better. Buy me a coffee in Vancouver, or something, once you get all settled in and set up with a new life."

He keeps his voice as light as he can - even as he tries to not imagine Derek _actually_ taking him out for a cup of coffee - but Derek says nothing, and when the silence starts to stretch again, Stiles finally sighs and glances sideways, something inside him chest tightening at the way Derek's frowning down at the dashboard - which is absolutely fucking ridiculous, since the man's still pretty much a stranger, and Stiles really needs to not let this entire situation turn into some cliché romance movie in his head.

"Yeah, no. Thing is, I don't do awkward silences. I babble. So unless you want me to start babbling, you'd best find some kind of story to tell me."

"What do you want to know?"

"Anything you want. Floor's yours, man. I'm all ears. Though I've never particularly liked that expression. Makes me think of ears all over my body, which is just -"

"Cora made me listen to The Spice Girls when we were younger."

There's a moment where it doesn't process, and then Stiles feels a massive grin spread over his face - so wide it actually hurts. Glances over at Derek, sees the way he's looking a bit hesitant, and grins a little more.

"That so?"

"Yes."

"So if I did this, it'd be cool?"

And with that, he's reaching for the volume button again, _living it up is a state of mind_ blaring out to greet them, and when he glances over at Derek to find him smiling slightly at the dashboard, all Stiles can do is grin some more, something inside him flaring warm and happy in a way that feels incredibly pleasant. He's got his jeep, he's got good music, and he's got someone who seems to be shaping up to be awesome company, and Stiles suddenly can't even remember the last time he felt this good.


	2. Chapter 2

Of course, it can't be sunshine all the time. And while Stiles normally loves the rain, driving in it in the dark is a little bit different, and by the time they hit about 9 pm - having put many, many miles behind them - Stiles is cursing the skies and squinting through the windshield wipers.

"Alright, then. First motel we find, that's it. I don't care how sketchy it is."

"I'll protect you."

"Oh, god. This from the guy I've known for all of one day."

He's smiling a bit, though, and a quick glance at Derek shows that he's doing the same, even if Stiles can barely take his eyes from the road to check. The day had gone incredibly well - they'd stopped for lunch once, and Stiles had insisted on at least getting Derek some damn fries; and they'd made two other stops to take in some gorgeous scenery spots, and Stiles had very much had to concentrate on ignoring the way Derek looked like a work of art with a backdrop of forest behind him - and now all Stiles wants is to find a motel, get a couple of rooms, and call it a night. He's tired, and it's dark, and -

He's slamming the brakes before he even processes what he's seeing - _don't swerve, don't swerve, don't swerve_ \- and the car lurches horribly, drawing a yelp from him as he tightens his grip on the steering wheel and lets up on the brake, tries to steer them away even as they start to hydroplane, and _dear god that's a big fucking moose -_

"Get down!"

He barely recognizes his own voice, hopes Derek listens, _moose go through windshields_ , and then - the moose is bolting, _thank god_ , and they come skidding to a stop, about ten feet past where they would have crashed into the damn thing, and Stiles - can't breathe. Can't think over his own heartbeat. Stares at the empty highway in front of them until there's a hand on his arm, and he turns to stare at Derek, who just stares calmly back at him.

"Steer us onto the gravel, Stiles."

"I - right. No, it's okay - I'm - jesus, though. A fucking _moose_."

He's pressing the gas again as he speaks - and, thankfully, the jeep gets going with no problem, even if Stiles feels his legs begin to shake, and - wow. Of all the creatures that could ever conceivably wander in front of a car, the one you really, really don't want to hit is a moose, and - jesus. He swallows hard, takes a steadying breath, and makes a conscious attempt to shake it off.

"I - wow. Sorry, I just -"

"You okay to drive?"

"Yeah, I just -"

"Scary."

"Yeah."

And it's only then, somehow, that Stiles realizes that Derek still has his hand on his elbow, and - even with how badly he's shaking - it's enough to bring a flush to his cheeks. Can't quite bring himself to look at Derek - even if he could look away from the rain, he doesn't think he'd be able to look at Derek. Here Stiles is, shaking, and the man barely seems rattled.

"What about you? You okay?"

"Yeah."

And then Derek's hand is gone, and Stiles - breathes through it all, puts all his effort into concentrating on the road in front of him. He's had his share of close calls, but that one's forever gonna rank pretty high up there. If you hit a moose, it's normally the moose who walks away from it, and that is - something Stiles really would rather not experience. Manages a shaky sound of amusement, somehow, at the next thought that slips into his mind.

"Best you wish you didn't get in the car with me, huh?"

"You have good reflexes."

"I - well, thanks. Didn't do much."

"From where I was sitting, you did just fine."

And at that Stiles just - can't seem to find anything to say. Manages a noise that he hopes conveys his thanks, and then he just - concentrates on the road in front of him. The sooner they can find a motel, the better. He's a pretty resilient guy, when it comes to driving incidents, but nearly hitting a moose is apparently enough to leave him a little rattled, and he takes a steadying breath as he tightens his grip on the wheel and keeps his eyes on the road.

\- - -

By the time they find a motel, it's still raining, but Stiles has managed to chill out a bit, even if he's still a little shaky inside. Parks the jeep in front of the main doors, locks her up, and then he and Derek are lugging their backpacks inside, and Stiles can't stop a grin as Derek makes an unhappy noise and then shakes his head, sending water flying everywhere.

"Dude, did you really just full-on shake like a dog?"

He gets a glare for that one, but it just makes him grin a bit wider, and then he's moving up to the reception desk, leaning his elbows on it and smiling at the middle-aged woman who takes out her headphones and smiles back at him.

"Welcome to our charming establishment. Queen bed okay?"

"Uh - separate rooms, actually. Anything you've -"

"Sorry, kid. We're all booked up. Got one queen left, and that's it."

For a second, he thinks about protesting being called _kid_ \- he's over eighteen, for crying out loud - but then the words sink in, and he doesn't dare look at Derek, who's come to stand beside him. They will - figure something out. What, he's not sure, but they - there will be an answer to this. So he just shrugs and keeps the smile on, and tries to ignore the way his mind is slamming him with images of being pressed up against Derek in some warm little bed.

"Guess we'll take it, then."

Beside him, Derek's still incredibly silent, and Stiles is - well. He'll figure something out. People who have one-night stands do it all the time, right? Get their rocks off and then go to sleep next to a perfect stranger? And, sure, it's a bit different to pick someone up from the side of a highway, sure, but -

There's a sudden crack of thunder, the sound of rain hitting the roof a bit harder, and Stiles can't quite stop a sigh. Yeah. No way is Derek sleeping outside, period, but sleeping in the rain would be even worse, and Stiles will just - have to sleep in the car, or something. Because regardless of what people do with their casual hook-ups, he can only imagine what his dad would say to him sharing a bed with a hitchhiker, and the thought alone is enough to make him cringe. And while the backseat of his jeep isn't the most comfortable place in the world, it'll do, and as Stiles takes the room key, he sighs again. So much for them both getting a good night's sleep.

\- - -

"No.”

“Derek, come on. The seats are perfectly comfortable. I’ll be –”

“I can sleep in the jeep.”

“You think I’m letting you anywhere near my baby without me there?”

“It’s not like you’re giving me the keys!”

“Dude, how do I know you don’t have a history as a carjacker?”

He means it as a joke – kind of, at least – but Derek’s frown only gets worse, and he glances at the bed they’re both standing beside – and then Derek’s hefting his backpack and going to brush past Stiles, heading for the door, as though he's actually going to sleep in the rain, and Stiles only realizes he’s put a hand on Derek’s arm when they both go still. It's like the room narrows down, then, and Stiles feels a wave of lust wash low and hot and desperate inside him, and then Derek’s eyes are snapping down to pin him on the spot even as Stiles yanks his hand away and holds both of them up in the universal sign for surrender.

“Shit, sorry, I’m _so_ sorry, that was – kind of douche-y of me, wasn’t it? Shit. Um, tactile person, sorry. Hands off, I promise. You’re free to go where you will – obviously, I mean – I didn’t mean to imply –”

“Stiles.”

“Right – well. I’ll just – let me give you a room for the night, alright? The jeep won’t hurt for –”

_“Stiles.”_

“What?”

“Do you ever stop talking?”

“I – no, not really, actually. See, you already know me so well.”

It’s a weak comeback, though, because his knees are still a little shaky and Derek is still way too close, staring down at him with an expression that Stiles doesn’t have a hope in hell of deciphering, and this is – probably way too intense of a situation, given that they haven’t even known each other for two days. He feels like something out of some goddamn romance movie, and Stiles looks away and tries to stop thinking about how good Derek’s arm felt underneath his hand.

“Look – fine. Whatever. I’m pretty sure if you wanted to kill me, you wouldn’t be so keen to leave. And maybe that makes me an idiot, but –”

“I don’t want to kill you.”

“Well, you would say that, wouldn’t you.”

“I can leave.”

“Oh, god. Whatever. Just get in the damn bed.”

“You sure?”

“Yes. Yes, alright, and I’m tired and I’d really like to sleep at some point, so why don’t you –”

But Derek’s already moving, sitting down on the bed and shrugging out of his leather jacket, leaning down to start working on his boots, and Stiles – only realizes he’s standing there and just fucking watching when Derek stops what he’s doing to frown at him, and Stiles swallows and somehow manages a shaky smile before he beelines it around to the other side of the bed. God, between the blatant staring and the hand-on-Derek’s-arm-thing, it’s soon going to be Derek who ends up being uneasy at the idea of sharing a room with him, and Stiles only waits long enough to lose his shoes and his sweater before he slides in under the blankets and buries his face in the pillow. Brushing his teeth can wait. Right now, he needs to be sleeping, because if he’s not, he’s going to do or say something else that’s incredibly stupid, and then Derek’s gonna end up hightailing it away from the crazy person and sleeping on a bench again.

“Can I turn the light off?”

“What? Oh, yeah – sorry, should have –”

But the light’s already off, and then the bed’s groaning under the extra weight as Derek slides in to lie beside him, a wall of heat that Stiles entire body is already acing to be closer to, and Stiles just – yeah. This was not necessarily one of his better ideas. Because it doesn’t matter that Derek probably doesn’t swing his way, and probably wouldn't even be interested in Stiles if he did. His body’s still catching fire from the inside out, and he can hear Derek’s slow breathing in the darkness, and he can feel the way there’s barely any space between them, and he’s pretty sure it’s going to be one hell of a long night. Pretty sure that this is actually one of the worst ideas he’s ever –

“Thanks.”

Derek’s voice is a rumble in the darkness, low and soft and way too fucking close, and Stiles feels it across every inch of his body. Takes a moment to just breathe, and then does his best to pretend the tightness in his chest is from nothing but arousal, because this really isn’t a romance movie, and the barely masked gratitude in Derek’s voice should not be making him feel the way that it is.

“No problem, buddy. Just – expecting a really good shoulder massage at some point, ka?”

There’s what sounds like a huff of amusement, and then Stiles closes his eyes, buries his face deeper into the pillow, and considers actually counting sheep. It’s going to be a very long night.

\- - -

When Stiles wakes up, he's warm. Very, very warm. And there's an arm across his hip, a hand pressed up against his stomach, a broad chest against his back, and something that is very decidedly not an arm or a leg pressing against his ass. He goes very, very still - can't breathe for the heat that washes over him - and then he's closing his eyes against a groan, and wondering why the world hates him so much. This is every bad cliché ever, and Derek's breath is warm against the side of his neck, and Stiles - absolutely does not know what to do. It's like his entire brain has gone offline all at once.

That, of course, is the moment when Derek mutters something and pulls him a bit closer, his dick pressing harder against Stiles' ass and his hand tightening against his stomach, drifting dangerously low, and Stiles - yeah. This needs to stop. Not only because Stiles is going to come all over himself like a teenager, but because Derek is sleeping, and that's just not fair.

"Derek."

His voice is barely above a squeak, but it seems to do the trick, because the body behind him goes ramrod stiff - and then Derek's yanking himself backward, nearly falling out of the bed from the sound of it, and Stiles can't help but be a little insulted by that. Braces himself as he turns over, and Derek looks - absolutely horrified, which - well. That kind of confirms the idea that Stiles really needs to keep his fantasies firmly locked away in his head. Bites his lip, meets Derek's wide-eyed stare, and somehow, amazingly, manages to conjure up a weak smile.

"Um, morning?"

Derek stares at him for a moment longer, and then he makes a pained noise and actually presses his hands over his face, and Stiles can't quite hold on to the smile. Feels something pull too tight in his chest, and he's just about to say something - anything, really, to break the silence - when Derek drops his hands and goes back to staring at him.

"I am _so_ sorry."

"Hey, no, it's -"

"I haven't shared a bed in - in -"

" _Derek._ Chill. I don't mind, alright? It's fine, don't beat yourself -"

And then he stops. Realizes what he said. Because there is a massive difference between _I don't mind_ and _It's fine_ and that former one should have never passed his lips, and - crap. He can't quite look at Derek, anymore - drops his eyes to the blanket and twists it between his hands, and hey, that's one hell of an ugly flower pattern - and then the silence is broken by Derek sliding off the bed and walking away. It's only when the bathroom door closes that Stiles looks up again, and - yeah. He really messed that one up. And, judging by Derek's reactions, it's going to be a long, lonely trip to Vancouver on his own.

\- - -

By the time Derek gets back out of the bathroom, Stiles has packed up his stuff and plunked himself down in the grungy hallway, sitting on his backpack and leaving the motel room door open. He can hear Derek rummaging around inside - packing his things, Stiles presumes - and then Derek steps out into the hallway, and Stiles suddenly sees the flaw with sitting on his bag. Having his eyes level with Derek's crotch is not going to help anyone in this situation, and he scrambles up to his feet, and feels his skin flush anew as Derek proceeds to just stare at him. He's back in that damn leather jacket of his, and whatever he's done with his razor, that stubble's still pretty much perfect, and - yeah. The last thing he's going to want is Stiles staring at him, or to be stuck in the same jeep as him.

"So, um. Are you -"

"Do you want me to leave?"

"I - what?"

"You gave me a bed, and I repaid you by touching you without your consent. I'll understand if you -"

"Dude. That's what you're worried about?"

Stiles can't help the way his voice goes up a couple octaves - seriously, did Derek somehow miss the _I don't mind_ part of things? Even if it's totally fucking awesome that Derek's being so cautious and honourable and shit, because that's all kinds of adorable and admirable, and it's making something inside Stiles' chest hurt a bit - and then Derek's looking away to glare down at the floor, and Stiles just - seems to be missing something here. Because this is the part where Derek should be running off, and, instead, he's standing here in this grungy hallway looking all guilty, and Stiles takes a steadying breath. Reminds himself that he only lives once. Thinks about how good it felt to wake up with Derek's arm around him.

"I said I didn't mind. I can't get much clearer than that."

His voice barely wavers - something he's damn proud of, actually - and he watches as a honest to god flush creeps up Derek's cheeks. Then, Derek looks at him again, way too intense and close in the small hallway, and Stiles wants to reach out and touch, but isn't going to do that until he has permission. Settles, instead, for addressing the other part of their situation - even if, based on Derek's reaction, Stiles is pretty damn sure he has an answer already, and _god_ , that is one hell of a head rush.

"Are you - do you want me to leave you here?"

"What? No. That's not -"

"Then if you're still comfortable riding with me, we're losing daylight, and I saw a damn good looking diner on the way in. Shall we go find some pancakes?"

His voice is still remarkably steady - a rather impressive feat, given that his legs feel like liquid and he's pretty sure he's blushing again - and Derek just stares at him for a moment longer before he nods again, somewhat hesitantly, and Stiles doesn't both to stop the smile. He just woke up with Derek wrapped around him, and Derek doesn't seem to want to run in the other direction, _and_ there are pancakes waiting for him on the imminent horizon, and Stiles is pretty sure he doesn't have a damn thing to complain about right now.

\- - -

After that, the day is awesome.

They go for pancakes (Stiles pays, and when Derek puts up a protest, there's another mention of payback shoulder rubs, and Stiles can't stop a grin when Derek flushes all over again). They make it out of town by just past 10 am. Stiles digs out some more of his music - cause as great as The Spice Girls are, it's probably not fair to subject either himself or Derek to that for the entire long trip - and they crank down the windows and let Bad Company do its thing for awhile. Stiles does his best to keep both eyes on the road - the sun is shining and the roads are clear, but he's not going to forget that moose for awhile - even though all he wants to do is stare at Derek. With that damn jacket and his pensive expression and the wind in what little hair he has, Derek looks like every wet dream Stiles has ever had, and he has to very carefully not think about waking up with Derek wrapped up around him, or he's going to drive them right off the road.

They also talk a bit more, when they eventually end up parked somewhere just over the border into Saskatchewan, sitting at a rest stop and gaping at the impossibly flat land around them. And though Stiles knows he's not really getting more than the basics of Derek's life, he doesn't mind, and he knows he can more than balance things out by babbling for as long as necessary. Derek hasn't once seemed to want to shut him up - which is a feat in itself - and he also seems to get all adorably flustered whenever Stiles says anything that could be construed as innuendo - which, yeah, Stiles still doesn't know how he's managing that at all. Because he has no idea what he's doing here. Oh, he's faking it well enough - and the head rush that comes from making Derek blush is almost enough to leave him dizzy - but he's barely got a few make-out sessions under his belt (or, well, above it, most unfortunately) to back up what he's implying, and he's just going to - he doesn't even know. Enjoy the flirting, and not press for anything more, right now, and try to ignore the voice in his mind that keeps asking him why a guy like _Derek_ would want anything to do with him. It's not that Stiles is exactly hard to look at - and he knows it - but Derek looks like he's been carved out of a marble and put on Earth to tempt all the mere mortals, and Stiles eventually decides to just not question it, and to just enjoy the weird flirty place they seem to have stumbled into. Because for all that he still barely knows Derek, he's already starting to like him as much as much as he wants to jump in (which is, to say, quite a lot), and it seems insane that, a few days ago, Derek was some stranger on the side of the road.

\- - -

They hit Moose Jaw around 7 pm (seriously, what is it with Canada and moose? Can't anyone think of anything more creative than moose references?), and Derek goes off to use the washroom while Stiles fills up the tank of his jeep. The sun's nearly gone down, but they've still potentially got a few hours ahead of them, and he ends up pulling the jeep to the side of the parking lot once he's filled it up, and spreading a map out across the hood. He's musing over it when Derek comes out of the building and comes to stand close beside him, and, god - Stiles almost hurts with how much he just wants to press back into Derek and let Derek wrap him up again. Somehow manages to swallow around the tightness in his throat and make words happen, even if his voice comes out a bit rough.

"Um, so. Yeah. If I remember correctly, it's about 200 km between here and Swift Current. What do ya think?"

"What time is it?"

"Just past seven."

He looks side-long at Derek as he speaks, and find that Derek's staring up at the setting sun, biting his lip ever so slightly, and Stiles gets so distracted watching his mouth that he completely misses the part where Derek turns to look at him. Only figures it out when Derek makes some kind of sharp little noise, his skin flushing a bit, and then Stiles is blushing and jumping and swallowing hard, and - yeah. If Derek makes a move to take things further, Stiles is going to be in so far over his head. Pastes on a weak smile and ignores the way Derek's looking all flustered again, because that's not going to do either of them any favours if Stiles is meant to be driving.

"Um - right. So. What do you -"

"It's your call."

"Dude, no. You're riding shotgun. You get a say in this."

At that, Derek just shrugs, glancing back to the sun, and Stiles doesn't fight the urge to roll his eyes. Folds up the map and then gives his jeep a pat on the hood, not missing the way the action brings a small smile to Derek's lips, and Stiles has to swallow around the way he's really starting to like those little smiles. Takes a moment to make sure his voice will actually be steady when he speaks.

"So, uh - alrightie, then. Awesome sauce. There are plenty of small towns between here and there, in case we need to call it quits, so. Shall we?"

Derek just nods at him and crosses the jeep to slide into the passenger seat, and Stiles somehow wrenches his eyes away from him to take one last look around the parking lot, his gaze sliding over the small convenience store, before he gets in the jeep. They have food and water and a medical kit, and Stiles has a working cell phone, and if they run into any trouble over the next two hour stretch of mostly empty prairie, he's pretty sure it won't be anything they can't deal with.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the crazy long wait, and thanks so much to everyone who left such lovely feedback on the first two chapters! Chapter four shall be posted soon. :)

An hour later, Stiles is reconsidering his original optimism. Because first aid kit and cell phones notwithstanding, his jeep’s pulling to the side in a way that’s making him uneasy, and he’s already kicking himself for not bringing a spare tire. He gives it a few more minutes after he first notices it, just to make sure that he’s not imagining things, and then he mutters a curse and pulls over, turning the key just as Derek gives him a look.

“Problem?”

“Tire, I think. I’m just gonna –”

But Derek’s already sliding out of the passenger seat, and Stiles can’t quite stop himself from rolling his eyes – if Derek turns out to have a mechanic’s knowledge to go with his leather jacket and stubble and general bad boy look, then Stiles is definitely going to tease him about being a walking stereotype – before he yanks a flashlight from his backpack and gets out of the jeep himself. It only takes a few seconds of kneeling in the gravel to figure out that, yeah, they definitely should not be driving anywhere, and Stiles gnaws on his lip for a moment before he gets back to his feet again.

“We shouldn’t – if it’s going flat –”

“CAA?”

“Yeah. Really should have renewed that one.”

Derek makes a noise that sounds like a snort, and then he leans up against the jeep and crosses his arms across his ridiculously muscled chest, suddenly looking for all the world like some statue carved to perfection and then left there to shine in the moonlight. After a hesitant second, Stiles leans up beside him, the jeep cool against his back through his sweater, and there is – yeah. That’s literal crickets, right there. There is literally nothing but the sound of crickets, mixed with Derek’s slow and steady breathing beside him, and Stiles runs his tongue across his dry lips, and has to breathe through the low burn of heat that seems to be rising from somewhere deep inside him.

"So, uh – we wait, then? Flag down some help?”

“Better than trying to drive on it.”

“Yeah, that’s what – I like how you think. Honestly, cause, I’ve watched too many road safety 101 videos, and someone _always_ thinks it’s a good idea to keep driving, and then there are explosions and things get messy, and –”

His voice cuts out when Derek shifts beside him, their arms brushing together, and when Stiles opens his eyes again – he didn’t even realize he’d closed them – Derek is watching him, his expression visible enough by the moonlight, and Stiles thinks he sees something hesitant there. Stares right back, wishes he could find something to do or say, some way to push them to where they both seem to be trying to get, and then Derek makes a noise that sounds frustrated and brings a hand to rest against Stiles’ hip, and Stiles barely stops an actual shiver. Can’t quite bite back the harsh exhale of breath – so over his head, he is in _so_ over his head, here on the side of the road with some gorgeous guy he still barely knows – and then Derek’s moving in a bit closer, and Stiles has to close his eyes again. Can’t quite meet Derek’s eyes anymore, not when they’re so close.

“Stiles.”

“Um. Right. Look, I – um –”

“How old are you?”

“I – what?”

He gets his eyes open again, and sees the way Derek is looking at him. Like he’s just barely holding himself back, his fingers tightening against Stiles’ hip, and Stiles feels the rush of power when he licks his lips again and Derek’s eyes follow the movement. Lets that reaction move him in closer, and he somehow manages to speak over the suddenly choking speed of his heartbeat.

“Dude. I’m legal as of last month. So if that’s what you’re –”

His words get cut off on a noise that sounds, even to his own ears, rather strangled, when Derek leans in to press their mouths together, a barely there touch before he’s pulling back again, and Stiles is – yeah. In so much trouble. Because Derek’s looking hesitant, again, and Stiles is pretty sure he’s not the only one who’s nervous here, and he doesn’t know what hurts more – the tightness in his chest, or the warm ache that’s spreading low through his body, making him want _more, please, more_ , and right fucking _now_.

“Are you – is that okay?”

Derek strokes a thumb across Stiles’ hipbone as he speaks, still looking so fucking unsure of himself, and Stiles is just gone. Only realizes he’s dug his hands into the front of Derek’s jacket and yanked them together when Derek’s kissing him back, hands going tight against his hips as Stiles is – fuck, he’s being turned and pressed up against his own jeep, and the way he’s already damn near panting for it should really be humiliating, but Derek’s kissing him like he wants to swallow the air right out of his lungs, and Stiles can’t be bothered to care. Goes with it – twists against Derek, tries to get closer, groans at the way Derek shakes when Stiles slides his hands across his chest – and lets Derek kiss him until he can barely breathe, and he wants, god, he _wants_ –

Suddenly, Derek’s gone, muttering a curse as he pulls away, and Stiles is about to protest when he realizes there are headlights coming in their direction. For a long moment, all they can seem to do is stare at each other, and then Derek steps further onto the road to raise his hand, and Stiles closes his eyes and just tries to fucking breathe, his entire body feeling like it’s about three seconds away from catching fire.

\- - -

In the end, Stiles supposes he has to thank the mechanic gods, or something, because their rescuer turns out to be an honest-to-god tow truck – complete with spare tire, and everything – and they’re soon under way again, Stiles’ wallet a bit lighter and his jeep a much happier vehicle. He gives it about two minutes of furtive glances in Derek’s direction – sees the way he’s staring down at the dashboard, and looking all conflicted, like he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to be feeling – before he clears his throat and decides that they can both at least aim to use their words.

“So, um – that. That was – can we –”

“I haven’t done this in a long time.”

Derek’s voice is low, and Stiles might not know what _this_ means, exactly, but – judging by the way Derek seems even more hesitant than Stiles – he thinks he gets the gist of it, at least. Saves the questions on how and why someone like Derek could ever be alone for any length of time, and swallows around the wave of nerves before he manages to speak.

"Yeah, well – I’ve never done this. Ever. So. You’re still one up on me.”

There’s no response to that one, and Stiles can’t even glance at Derek anymore. Gives it a few moments of incredibly awkward silence, and then he’s biting back something that tastes like regret as he reaches for the volume button – only to have Derek catch his hand in his, and tangle their fingers tightly together. They stay there awkwardly, for a moment, and then Derek tugs on his hand until they’re both resting against his thigh, Derek’s fingers still tangled up in his, and Stiles just – absolutely cannot fucking look at Derek right now. Breathes through the way everything inside him is getting all tangled up, tightens his fingers around Derek’s, and does his best to not drive them off the road as he tries to think over the suffocating pace of his heartbeat, and -

Something else comes to him, suddenly. Something that makes his stomach hurt something awful.

He needs to ask this, though. Needs to be absolutely sure.

"You, uh. You know, right, that I'll get you to Vancouver regardless, right? That - you don't have to - I swear, honestly and truly, I'll get y-you there even if we don't -"

Derek's fingers go almost painfully tight on his, suddenly. Stiles glances over, and finds Derek actually biting his fucking lip, and managing to look completely overwhelmed, and -

Stiles gets his eyes back on the road, again. Feels his breath leave him when Derek squeezes his fingers again.

"Thank you."

"Derek -"

"I want this, though. I - really do."

Stiles bites his lip. Gnaws, for a second, and then tightens his grip on Derek's fingers.

"If you change your mind, at any point -"

"Stiles."

"I'm _serious,_ okay -"

"I know. And thank you for that. But -"

Derek pauses. Stiles dares a quick glance at him. Finds Derek smiling down at their joined hands.

"I do want this, Stiles."

"Me, t-too."

He doesn't sound like himself. Sounds absolutely wrecked.

And when he can hear Derek swallow, Stiles tightens their fingers together, too.

God, he's the luckiest guy in the world.

\- - -

Once they finally get to Swift Current, they barely manage to close their motel room door and turn on the beside lamp before Derek’s looking all uncertain and hesitant again, standing there and damn near shifting in place as Stiles drops his backpack on one of the chairs and turns to face him. His heart’s beating so quickly it’s almost choking him, but Derek looks almost as rattled as Stiles feels, as though Stiles isn't the only virgin here - and for a painfully long and awkward moment, they simply stare at each other, until Stiles sucks in a deep breath and somehow makes his legs work. Steps forward to put a hand on Derek’s chest, loving the way Derek sucks in a sharp breath, and then he just stares up at him, taking in Derek’s wide eyes and flushed cheeks and trying to ask the question without speaking. When that doesn’t seem to do it – when Derek just stares at him, looking almost lost, like he has no idea what to do or say next – he licks his dry lips and manages to make actual words happen.

“Yes?”

Or, well – _word_ , at least. But it’s better than nothing. Verbal acknowledgement of what they’re doing, and all that. And it seems to be enough, before Derek stares at him for a bit longer before he nods – slow and still hesitant, but a nod, nevertheless – and Stiles – sucks in a breath that does nothing to steady himself, and then curls his hands into Derek’s leather jacket and leans up to kiss him. It’s slow, this time, and still a little hesitant, as though Derek’s having second thoughts again – and then Stiles tries to think about every porno he’s ever seen, and drags his teeth across Derek’s lip; and it’s like he hits some kind of switch in Derek’s brain, because Stiles is suddenly being spun around and pressed against the motel wall, and he can’t be blamed for the helpless laugh that tears out of him as his back makes contact with the wallpaper. Grins madly into the kiss as Derek – amazingly – grins back against his mouth, breathing out a laugh of his own as he hoists Stiles up and kisses him like he needs him to breathe, and this is – this is actually the best Stiles has ever felt, in his entire life. They’re both smiling and he’s on fire from the inside out and Derek _wants_ him, and Stiles – never wants this to end. Clutches tight to Derek and lets Derek lift him off the floor; wraps his legs around Derek’s waist and holds tight to his shoulders and lets Derek kiss him until the room is spinning; and then there’s a thumb sliding across one of his nipples through his thin t-shirt, and Stiles can’t help the way he squirms into the touch, even as it comes to him, distantly –

“Dude, are you actually holding me up with one hand?”

He sounds, to his own ears, absolutely wrecked; but he’s not too far gone to notice the way Derek goes still against him, for a moment – but then Derek’s thumb moves again, a bolt of heat streaking across his chest, and Stiles hisses and lets his head slam back against the motel wall. Does his best to not squirm so badly he knocks them both over, and then Derek’s voice is a low rumble against his neck as he gets his mouth there, warm and wet and so fucking perfect it hurts.

“Do you want me to put you down?”

“I – _christ_ , I don’t care what you do as long as you _do_ something –”

That gets another laugh against his neck, but it sounds more than a little strained, and Stiles is pretty sure Derek isn’t shaking from the exertion of keeping him in place. Scrapes at his neck with his teeth for an aching moment, and then he’s spinning them away from the wall to dump Stiles down onto the bed, Derek crawling down after him to lie on top of him – and then Stiles can’t think anymore, because Derek’s kissing him again, and Stiles gets lost in it. Never wants to stop. Can’t hold back a fucking pathetic whine when there are suddenly hands underneath his shirt, spanning across his sensitive stomach, massive and warm and feeling like every touch is connected to his dick, and Stiles doesn’t know what to do with his own hands. Latches onto Derek’s back and just holds on, twists up into the touch and just lets Derek kiss him, gasps and shakes and –

Somewhere along the way, it registers that he’s getting serious stubble burn. That he’s barely even breathing anymore – his breath stolen away into Derek’s lungs. That he doesn’t even know, anymore, how long they’ve been kissing, Derek’s hands going no lower than his belt, sliding over his shirt and then under it again but never actually taking it off, his lips and teeth and tongue making a mess of Stiles’ mouth and then dropping down to leave bruises across the skin of his throat, and – jesus. Stiles is pretty sure he’s never been this hard in his entire life – wants his jeans gone, like, yesterday – but Derek’s just – kissing him. Like the kind of high school making out that Stiles never got – like Derek could do this all night, with no thought for more, for all that he feels just tightly wound as Stiles; for all that he’s damn near vibrating against him – and Stiles is horrified to feel the way something in the back of his throat is suddenly starting to itch. Feels something inside him getting all twisted up in a way that he’s pretty damn sure has nothing to do with lust, and he swallows hard, slides his hands down to Derek’s hips, and tries to make words happen.

“Um – not that I don’t appreciate… this… but sometime before I _die_ , you know, would be –”

There’s a huff that sounds like amusement, sharp against his mouth, and then Stiles is biting down a gasp as Derek drags his teeth – lightly – against his collarbone, before pulling back to look at him, and – wow. Stiles has to swallow, and can’t help the way he puts a hand on Derek’s cheek. Doesn’t give a damn if it’s dangerously close to sappy, because Derek looks – _wow_. Flushed cheeks and dilated pupils and messy hair, and it’s for _Stiles_ ¸ and the thought is enough to punch a groan out of him. Makes him close his eyes, and then bite down a whine when Derek shifts under his palm, his mouth sliding around until his teeth are scratching against Stiles’ wrist.

“ _Jesus_ , Derek. You with t-the biting.”

“You don’t mind?”

He sounds hesitant, again, even as he twists his mouth to rest his teeth against Stiles’ palm, and all Stiles can do is squeeze his eyes shut tighter and clutch a bit harder to Derek, new heat spreading out inside him – and he can’t stop the honest answer, spilling out all low and way too shaky.

“Starting to get the feeling that I’d give just about anything a try where you’re concerned.”

For a moment, there’s silence – and then Derek makes a noise that sounds almost pained, and Stiles’ shirt is being stripped off so quickly it makes his head spin. He gets his arms up – tries to help as best as he can – and then pretty much swallows his tongue when Derek drops Stiles’ shirt to the floor and then strips off his own, leaving him half-naked and absolutely gorgeous, kneeling over Stiles and looking like some kind of Greek god. He’s aware, suddenly, of how fucking tiny he is in, in comparison – has a stupid, _stupid_ moment of wanting to cover himself up – but Derek’s already sliding down the bed to yank off both their boots, tossing them to the side before he returns to strip Stiles’ jeans and boxers clean off him, leaving him naked in the middle of the bed, and – wow. Stiles has never even imagined that anyone could ever look at him like that – like he’s something worth looking at; like Derek actually, truly wants _him_ , and not just another body to get off with – and it’s enough to make something inside him feel like it’s breaking apart.

“See something you like, big guy?”

He doesn’t quite get the humour he was going for, and Derek doesn’t say a word. Just kneels there for a moment longer, puts a giant hand on Stiles’ stomach as he sweeps his eyes up and down the length of him, still looking at him like Stiles is beautiful, or some such insanity – and then he’s damn near tripping over himself as he gets off the bed, gorgeous in nothing but his jeans, fumbling for his backpack and cursing until he yanks out a box of – oh, god, Derek has condoms. He has no idea why Derek has condoms, if, indeed, he hasn't _done this in a long time_ , but the box isn't even opened yet -

Suddenly, though, the full implications of the condoms hit him, and Stiles’ brain seems to stall – because, alright, sure, alright, anal sex is _maybe_ something he could get on board with, eventually; a thing he could do, possibly; but just – not quite yet – and he opens his mouth to babble something, but then Derek’s back on the bed, kneeling between Stiles’ legs and using two huge hands to push them apart; and then he`s rolling a condom down over Stiles’ dick, and Stiles barely has time to freak out before Derek’s puts his mouth on his cock, and Stiles’ mind just – goes blank. Wipes white, nothing but wetness and heat, and he’s distantly glad that Derek is holding his hips still, because Stiles – can’t. Can’t stop squirming into the touch, can’t stop trying to buck into Derek’s mouth – gets his hands down into Derek’s hair, then realizes he’s going to fucking tear it all out, and curls his fingers into the blankets instead – and then Derek takes him in deeper, and Stiles just gives up on thinking completely. Can’t do anything but let Derek spiral him higher and higher and higher, until he’s making frantic noises and scrabbling at Derek’s shoulders, babbling something desperate – but Derek just holds him down and sucks harder, and the entire world goes gray at the edges, his orgasm ripping out of him. He can hear himself shouting, and it’s like every muscle in his body pulls tight and then snaps free all at once, so suddenly it hurts, and by the time he manages to get his eyes open again, the condom’s gone, and Derek’s got his own jeans undone, flushed and panting as he stares at Stiles, his hand stripping the length of his own cock – and the minute Stiles meets his eyes, Derek closes his own on what sounds almost like a whine, his cock shooting all over the blankets, and his face twisted into pretty much the most gorgeous thing Stiles has ever seen, Derek’s teeth slamming down into his own lip and his chest heaving for air.

For a moment, then, everything seems to go still – and then Derek damn near topples, sprawls out beside him, gasping for air nearly as badly as Stiles is, and Stiles just – desperately needs to touch, suddenly. Breathes through an unexpected wave of crushing affection, and finds himself rolling over to wrap his arms around Derek before he even realizes what he’s doing; feels Derek go perfectly still against him – and he’s just about to pull away when Derek slings an arm around him, pulling him in even closer, and Stiles closes his eyes and just holds on tight, every inch of him hurting in the best way possible.

He loses track of time a little bit, after that – just floats on the post-orgasm haze and enjoys the feeling of Derek’s warm skin against his, gradually coming to the decision that he never, ever wants to move again. Eventually, though, Derek stirs beside him, pulling his face out his own arm and finally turning to look at him, and – oh, god, post-coital is a really goddamn good look on Derek. Just the sight of his flushed cheeks and messy hair has Stiles’ dick making a valiant effort to go again, but he’s pretty sure the ache in his stomach has nothing to do with lust, and everything to do with how uncertain Derek suddenly looks.

“Was that… okay?”

For a moment, Stiles just stares at him, only distantly realizing that his mouth has dropped open. He’s just had the best orgasm of his _entire life,_ and he got to watch Derek jerk off like something out of his own personal porn collection, and Derek is actually asking him like it’s a _serious question_ – like he has absolutely no idea _how damn good_ he just made Stiles feel – and it takes Stiles more than a bit of gaping before he finally pulls his brain back online long enough to speak.

“ _Okay?_ Dude. Are you kidding m-me right now? That - that was easily the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Derek’s only response is to stare at him for a moment longer, way too damn intense with such little space in between them – and then it’s like Stiles can see the last remaining tension seep out of him, as his lips turn up ever so slightly at the edges, the concern morphing into an expression that looks pleased and fond and genuinely happy, and, oh _god,_ Stiles has the sudden realization that he might already be in serious trouble, here, because he really, _really_ likes that little smile. He barely has time to freak out, though, because Derek’s suddenly sliding off the bed, dropping his jeans and boxers to the floor – Stiles barely stops a whimper at the sight of all of him on beautiful display – and holding out his hands for Stiles to take; something that Stiles doesn’t do immediately, because as nice as a shower sounds, he’s not sure he has the capacity to walk yet.

“Are you kidding - look, you just killed me, okay. Death by orgasm. You actually expect my legs to work?”

“I could always carry you.”

For a second, Stiles considers protesting – considers making a quip about how this isn’t a Harlequin romance, and about how he’s not some swooning maiden – but then he thinks about being pressed up against all that wonderfully naked skin, and he just shrugs and raises his eyebrows, wiggling them in a way that has to look ridiculous; and then he ends up grinning so hard it hurts when Derek huffs out a laugh and tugs him up off the bed like he weighs nothing. Scoops him up against his chest, holds him there in his arms like it’s something he does every day – Stiles puts up a token struggle, but he’s smiling too hard for it to be anything but ridiculous; and, god, he hopes they can blame the post-orgasm endorphins for this later; because he might be new to this whole casual sex thing, but he’s pretty sure that this is not normally how it goes – and then Derek’s carrying him towards the washroom, cradling him close to his chest and huffing out another laugh as Stiles squirms around some more, and all Stiles can do is bury his face into Derek’s neck and grin.

\- - -

After that, they have a rather glorious six days.

They drive. They stay in crumby little motels. They eat scrambled eggs and bacon at crappy diners. They alternate between listening to nineties pop and classic rock and Gordon Lightfoot. They take photos of trees and rivers and lakes and rock formations. They have sex as often as they can – anything that can be safely done with a condom, at least, and Stiles is already having dangerous fantasies about getting his mouth on Derek with nothing in between them – and Stiles learns very, very quickly just how much he loves to make someone else feel good. Learns very quickly that being in between Derek’s legs and having the power to make him fall apart with his mouth is one of the headiest things he’s ever felt; and as they spend hours exploring each other’s bodies and learning how to make each other feel good, Stiles has the realization that he’s probably never been this happy. He can’t imagine having a more considerate lover than Derek, and while they don’t go for the full deal yet – Derek doesn’t so much as hint as anything more, and Stiles is too chicken shit to bring it up – they spend the week making out like teenagers, leaving each other shaking with a series of handjobs and blowjobs all throughout motels along the Trans-Canada Highway; and between the sex and the scenery and the music and the way Derek seems to be gradually relaxing into more smiles and laughter, it’s definitely the single best week of Stiles’ life.

The only real hiccup they have, at any point, is when Stiles finally finds the guts to ask Derek why he'd been carrying around an unopened box of condoms - whether Derek had been planning all along to do something about, _I haven't done this in a long time_ , and whether Stiles just ended up being the really lucky guy - and then ends up feeling his pleased little smirk slide away when Derek's face does something pained, before he mutters something about not knowing what, exactly, he'd have to do to get across the country; and that's the point at which Stiles is pretty sure he feels something break in his chest. Hates that idea so much it actually hurts; and there's an incredibly pained few moments of mostly silence - nothing but the radio to break it - before Stiles pulls over, getting an eyebrow raise out of Derek as he puts the jeep in park; but it's not enough to deter him. Not enough to stop him from saying something sappy about how he's really damn glad, then, that he picked Derek up; and they end up making out there on the side of the highway, and following it up with something that might possibly be considered cuddling, right there in the front of the jeep. It's not exactly the most comfortable situation, what with the fact that the passenger seat isn't exactly built for two people; but he's got Derek's arms wrapped around him and Derek's mouth on his, and nothing that Stiles has ever found that even comes close to comparing to how incredible he feels when he's in Derek's arms.

He also, at some point, at the days go by, realizes that Derek is actually staring to tell him things about his life – little details, even; the kind that don’t normally come up, unless you’re truly comfortable with someone – and Stiles surprises himself when he starts doing the same thing. By the end of the week, he ends up telling him about some of the bigger stuff, too – tells his about his mom, even, when they’re sitting at a picnic bench by some gorgeous cliff; and Derek stares at him for a moment, before he takes his hand, apologizes for Stiles’ loss, and then tells him, in halting words, about his own family, lost in a fire when he was a teenager – and it’s really no surprise that later that night, after an afternoon spent driving mostly in silence, they end up curled up together on the hood of Stiles’ jeep. Stiles ends up wrapped up tight in Derek’s arms, held tight against his chest, as they both stare up at the stars; and not only is it the safest that Stiles has ever felt, but he also realizes that he suddenly and desperately wants to be able to do the same for Derek. Wants to make Derek feel safe and cared for the same way he’s doing for Stiles; and maybe he should be terrified by this, but judging by the way Derek starts curling around him while they sleep at night, Stiles might not be the only one who’s crossed over from casual sex into something more. Doesn’t ask, though, but he knows what he wants – knows that, despite having not even known the guy for two full weeks, he wants to have Derek in his life for as long as Derek wants to be there – and while he has no idea what will happen when they reach Vancouver, for now he’s found someone he can talk to about the big stuff – someone who knows how to listen, and who also knows what loss feels like, and who seems to have been looking for someone he can care for, judging by the way he goes out of his way to do little things to make Stiles happy – and Stiles is just going to cling to this for as long as it lasts.


	4. Chapter 4

Eventually, though – no matter how much Stiles would like the trip to last forever – they cross into British Columbia, and end up on the outskirts of Langley as the sun is just starting to set. Stiles knows that he could easily push it and get them into Vancouver in only another hour or so – knows damn well that Derek has to know it, too, because he’s the one who’s been sitting with the map in his lap in the passenger seat – but he finds himself pulling off the highway instead, and Derek doesn’t say a word of argument.

They find a motel for the night, drop their stuff off, and then go for a drive down some of the back roads outside of Langley. Stiles doesn’t really have a destination – just wants to prolong this for as long as he can – and he cranks up the music – _carefree highway, let me slip away on you_ – and rolls down the windows, something in his chest pulling too tight when Derek smiles at him.

“Any destination?”

“Nope. Unless you’ve got something in mind.”

Derek simply shakes his head, and then rests his chin on the window ledge – looks almost like a dog sticking its head out to enjoy the passing wind – and Stiles doesn’t bother to smother a grin as he stares for a second, before he returns to watching the road, weaving them further and further out of town. The sun’s still not quite down, yet, and when they eventually come across some kind of park, Stiles considers it for a moment before he pulls in – because as much as he loves driving, going for a walk with Derek on their last night before getting into Vancouver sounds like a damn good plan, too. Kills the engine and then glances over at Derek, who simply smiles and opens the door; and then Stiles is peeling out to join him, and they end up walking down some pathway in the forest, listening to the crickets chirping, with a handful of stars just starting to show up above them. There aren’t even that many mosquitoes; and the only thing that would make it more perfect would be holding Derek’s damn hand – but Stiles is too chicken to make a move, suddenly, and he contents himself with the gentle bumping of their shoulders together as they wander down the path. Neither of them says a word, and they eventually come to some kind of overlook, with a view of the mountains, and then Stiles thinks _to hell with it_ and leans over to rest his head against Derek’s shoulder; something inside him going all achy when Derek slides an arm around him and pulls him in tight. For a moment, neither of them moves – and then Derek clears his throat, and Stiles can quite literally feel the tension seeping back into his body.

“Are we – tomorrow. What do you – once we get to Vancouver – what do – are we going to –”

“The stuttering would be endearing if I wasn’t so damn nervous myself.”

Stiles isn’t quite sure how he gets it out – probably has something to do with the fact that he’s now almost convinced that he’s definitely not alone in this, here – and Derek seems to relax a little against him, closing his eyes for a moment before he turns to look at him, and Stiles stares up at him and wonders how they’ve gotten here within two weeks of knowing each other. Breathes through the ache at the almost helpless question in Derek’s face, as though he wants to speak, but can`t; and Stiles, somehow, finds the words for both of them, because one of them has to actually verbally put it out there.

“Your call, big guy. I don’t want to end this if you don’t. If you –”

“I want this.”

He says it quickly – like he’s afraid Stiles is going to take the offer away again, or something equally insane – and Stiles can’t stop the almost painfully wide grin that spreads across his face, relief damn near taking his knees out from underneath him; and then he steps forward to wrap his arms around Derek, and Derek lets himself be pulled in, until their arms are tight around each other and they’re just standing there, on the cliff edge, just holding on tight. For a moment, everything is absolutely fucking perfect – Stiles can feel the way Derek is smiling into his hair, and he’s pretty sure that something sappy inside him is sprouting wings and taking flight, judging by the insane amount of butterflies in his stomach – and then Derek goes absolutely rigid and jumps away, and the look on his face is so frightened that Stiles feels it like a punch to the gut.

“What –”

But Derek shakes his head and holds up a hand, and Stiles instinctively falls silent. Can’t see or hear anything weird, but Derek is tilting his head, slightly, as though he’s listening to something; and then he closes his eyes and lets out a noise that could almost be a growl, before he takes Stiles’ hand.

“We need to go.”

“I – what? What are you even –”

“I – heard something. Bear, I think.”

“I didn’t hear –”

“ _Stiles_. Just – trust me, alright? We need to leave.”

And then Derek’s tugging on his hand, and Stiles lets himself be tugged, though he has no idea what the hell Derek’s talking about. They make it back onto the path, but they don’t go far before Derek stops again, cocks his head like a dog, and then makes the most frustrated sound Stiles has ever heard from him.

“It’s between us and the jeep. We need to –”

“Honestly, Derek? Pretty sure that right now you’re scaring me more than a bear would.”

He doesn’t quite mean it – because, yes, while it’s a little weird that Derek apparently suddenly thinks he has superhuman hearing, a bear would still be creepier – but the look of utter hurt that flashes across Derek’s face leaves him feeling like he’s been punched. Before he can try to apologize – though for what, exactly, he isn’t sure – Derek is yanking on his hand and pulling him in the other direction – tugging him up the path, further into the forest, and Stiles just grits his teeth and lets himself be pulled. Wants to argue, but he’s never seen Derek like this – and they don’t get far before Derek stops, cocks his head again, and then turns to Stiles, and – whatever he was going to say is silenced by a noise that comes from neither of them, and Stiles feels his stomach turn as they both turn to find a giant fucking grizzly bear standing right there behind them.

A mama grizzly. With two cubs. Oh, jesus.

Stiles makes a whimpering noise that he didn’t know he was capable of – they’re supposed to play dead, right? Except when they’re being actively pursued, like right now; and then they’re supposed to fight back, right? Oh, _jesus,_ this can’t be happening, it can’t – and then the bear is standing up on its hind legs, giant and horrible and the most terrifying thing Stiles has ever seen. It lets out a roar, then – one that vibrates right through him – and Stiles looks around wildly for anything that could work as some kind of weapon – but Derek is grabbing him and spinning him to look at him, and the expression on his face is so desperate it hurts to look at, but they _need_ weapons –

“Stay behind me.”

“I – what?”

“I’ll be fine. I need you to –”

“Are you _crazy?_ ”

He can’t help the way it turns into a yelp, and then the bear hits all fours again and lets out another ground-shaking roar – and Derek’s face twists into an expression that looks less like fear, and something more like pained resignation – and then Stiles can’t breathe, because something is happening to Derek’s face. Something that involves teeth and hair and red eyes and Stiles would think he was dreaming, but this is all too fucking real – and then Derek turns and launches himself forward with a roar, landing on all four feet in front of the bear with claws his out and –

Stiles scrambles backwards, out of the way, presses himself up against a tree, and feels like he’s shaking apart as he watches. Feels like something in his mind is cracking as the bear swings its head from side to side, as though calculating, as the two baby bears run off into the bushes and Derek – _jesus, Derek_ – straightens up again, claws out beside him as he lets out another roar that easily rivals the bear’s. For a moment, the two creatures simply stare at each other – and then the grizzly lumbers forward, and Stiles lets out a whimper as Derek just barely dodges out of the way of the creature’s claws. Looks around for anything he could use to help, but there’s nothing, nothing at all – and he just stands there, helpless, as Derek somehow gets up on the bear’s back and holds on tight, tearing into it with his claws; and it’s easily the single most terrifying thing Stiles has ever seen.  
  
He’s not sure how long it lasts – the area becomes smeared with blood, and Derek eventually gets shaken off until they’re clawing at each other again, and Derek is making noises of pain and anger that Stiles never wants to hear again – but, eventually, Derek gets in a shot right across the bear’s face, and the monster takes off with a howling roar that Stiles feels straight into his bones. Lumbers off the path, in the direction the cubs had gone, trailing blood and bellowing its anger – and then there’s nothing but Derek just crouching there, covered in blood and his skin ripped all to pieces, and Stiles scrambles over to him as quickly as he can. Knows, distantly, that he should probably be running in the opposite direction – but whatever Derek is, and whatever insanity Stiles has suddenly stumbled into, Derek just fought a fucking _bear_ for him, and Stiles hits his knees in front of Derek, shaking so badly he can barely stay upright.

“Oh god, oh, god, tell me what to do – please don’t die, you _can’t_ die, Derek, please, you can’t –”

He cuts himself off when Derek raises his head to look at him – fangs and fur and red eyes, jesus christ – and somehow, despite the way he’s panting with pain, and despite the way his face has twisted into something animalistic, manages to look confused. Raises a hand – a _claw_ , jesus – and rests it lightly against Stiles’ cheek, and it’s only then that Stiles realizes he’s crying. He can’t stop the slight flinch, though, no matter how gentle the touch is – that’s a fucking _claw_ against his skin, there – and Derek quickly drops his hand and his eyes again, seeming to curl in on himself.

“I’ll heal.”

“ _Derek –_ ”

“Werewolves – we heal. I just need time.”

He sounds like his throat’s been as shredded as the rest of him, and then the words actually sink in, and Stiles starts to shake so hard it almost hurts. Werewolves. Jesus christ. And Stiles is suddenly and desperately questioning his sanity, because instead of running in the opposite direction, he’s glancing after the bear and trying to figure out if they can at least make to the jeep, so that Derek has a chance to heal somewhere safe.

“We need to – we need to get out of here. If that thing comes back –”

“Why are you still here?”

Every word sounds like it’s being ripped out, and Derek is still looking at the ground, somehow managing to curl in even closer on himself – and Stiles blinks away a new flood of tears. Has no idea what’s happening – and he’s pretty sure that as soon as the adrenaline crashes, he’s going to be screwed – and then, as carefully as he can, he gets his hands on Derek’s arms, trying not to touch anywhere that the bear’s claws and teeth had made contact. After a long, painful moment, Derek lets Stiles help him back to his feet, holding on tight to him as he weaves in place for a bit, and then he’s just standing there and staring at him, covered in blood and looking utterly lost, and Stiles breathes through the ache in his chest and hopes that he’s not heading for an anxiety attack.

“I reserve the right to freak out later. For now, we need to get you somewhere safe.”

Derek’s only response is to stare at him, still looking lost – and then he closes his eyes on a pained sound, and Stiles has no idea if it’s what he said, or if it’s to do with the way Derek’s body has been ripped to pieces. Tightens his grip a bit, and then glances down the pathway, and has a moment of being grateful that the fucking bear had run in the opposite direction from the jeep.

“Think you can, uh – de-wolf there, buddy? I doubt anyone’ll be hiking, this time of night, but just in case – maybe put the claws away, if you can? The jeep’s not far, if you think you can –”

He cuts himself off, sucks in a sharp breath, as Derek’s face starts to shift – the hair and teeth fading away to nothingness, and the claws on Stiles’ arms retracting into human hands, again; and when Derek looks at him, his eyes are hazel instead of red. It’s insane – it’s all so fucking insane it hurts – but Stiles somehow manages to slide an arm around Derek, staying in place until Derek slides one over his shoulder in return. He’s not looking at Stiles, though, and Stiles just holds on tight and helps him to walk, one painful step at a time as they start slowly making their way back to the jeep.

\- - -

By the time they get to the parking lot and get Derek into the jeep, he’s already – incredibly – starting to heal, and his face has gotten its normal colour back. For a moment, Stiles just sits in the driver’s seat and stares at him – watches as Derek very determinedly looks at anything and anywhere that isn’t Stiles, his entire body ramrod tense – and then he clears his throat, and wonders if he should be freaking out more than he is right now. Wonders what it says about him that he’s more choking on curiosity than fear, now that some of the shock is starting to wear off.

“So. Werewolves.”

He still doesn’t sound like himself, though, and Derek doesn’t look at him, only growing even tenser – and then Stiles wants to kick himself, because the guy is still practically bleeding out on his seats, and this is so not the time for this conversation. Pulls his key out of his pocket and sticks it in the engine, and then turns back to Derek, who’s looking even more confused than ever.

“I’ve got a blanket in the back. If we wrap you in that –”

“Stiles –”

“– then we should be able to smuggle you into the motel room, as long as we’re sneaky about –”

_“Stiles –”_

“Look, just – you saved my life, alright? I don’t care that you had to sprout fangs and claws to do it, so just – stop looking like I’m gonna dump you on the side of the road, okay? Cause I’m not.”

His voice is shaking by the end of it – apparently, he was optimistic in thinking that the shock had started to wear off – and Derek, if anything, just looks even more lost than before. After a moment, he simply nods and drops his eyes down to his lap, not saying a word; and Stiles grinds his teeth together as he starts the jeep and pulls it back out onto the road, pointing it in the direction of their motel, and trying to ignore how hard his hands are trembling against the steering wheel.

\- - -

By the time they smuggle Derek into their little motel room, Stiles isn’t shaking, anymore, but he still feels like he’s falling apart inside; and Derek still won’t even look at him. Gets into the motel room and then promptly locks himself in the bathroom, leaving Stiles alone with only the sound of the shower; and Stiles strips off his bloody clothes, finds new ones, and then curls up into a ball on the bed and tries to figure out what the hell he’s even feeling. In the end, it doesn’t take him that long – his mind is a mess of all the moments he’s shared with Derek, along with the fact that he just fought off a fucking grizzly bear to keep Stiles safe; and it’s more than enough to remind him of why he wanted this with Derek in the first place – and when Derek comes out of the shower, dressed in new clothes that still have spreading blood stains on them, Stiles gets to his feet and doesn’t miss the way Derek flinches when Stiles moves to stand right in front of him, his hands balled into fists at his sides and his eyes still firmly fixed on the carpet.

“Stiles –”

“I still want you. Fangs and all.”

For a moment, Derek doesn’t react, and all Stiles can do is hold his breath. Then, Derek makes another little noise that sounds hurt, and he gets his eyes up to meet Stiles’, and – wow. Stiles is pretty sure he’s never seen someone look so hopeful and frightened at the same time, and he swallows hard and takes Derek’s hands, not missing the way Derek's hands are shaking against his own.

“Talk tomorrow, alright? For now, just – can I do anything? To help you heal, I mean? Or would just trying to sleep be the best idea?”

For a moment, Derek just stares at him some more - and then he nods, and Stiles decides to take that as confirmation on the sleep idea. Squeezes Derek's hands a bit tighter, and then manages to make a bit of a shaky smile happen, even if he still feels like something inside him is trying to fly apart.

“Alright, then. That - alright. We can do that. Come on, you. I even wore an outfit that I don’t mind getting blood on.”

Derek just looks even more confused at that, and then he lets Stiles tug him in the direction of the bed – pulls back the blankets for Derek to get in, and Derek does so, glancing at Stiles several times, like he’s expecting some kind of trick. Once he’s finally lying down, Stiles slides in next to him, and then pulls the blankets up over both of them, before reaching over to turn off the lamp, plunging the room into darkness. For a moment, then, he nearly freaks out – has a moment of realizing that he’s in bed with a _werewolf_ – but then said werewolf shifts a bit, making a noise like he’s rubbed his injuries the wrong way against the bed, and all Stiles can feel is concern, mixed with the kind of crushing affection that he’s been feeling for Derek for days now. Bites his lip for a moment – doesn’t want to do anything that will hurt Derek any worse – and then reaches out in the dark until he finds Derek’s hand, lying limp on the bed between them. For a moment, the only reaction is the audible hitch in Derek’s breathing – and then Derek’s fingers close around his with barely any pressure at all, gentle and careful and painfully hesitant, as though he’s still afraid that Stiles is going to bolt at any second; and Stiles just closes his eyes and holds on, knowing damn well that he won’t be falling asleep for a long time.


	5. Chapter 5

When Stiles slowly starts to wake up again, Derek is already awake and watching him. Stiles goes very still for a moment – has an image, suddenly, of Derek covered in hair, with his teeth elongated into fangs, and his eyes glowing red – but the brief spike of fear fades under how uncertain Derek looks. He’s so far over on his side of the bed that it’s a wonder he hasn’t fallen off, and there’s a flash of what looks like guilt at being caught watching, and Stiles swallows hard as he pushes himself up on his elbow.

“See something you like, then?”

“I – I should go.”

“Dude, you’re not going anywhere until you help me figure out what to do with these blankets.”

“I –”

“I mean, hell, you probably bled clean through to the mattress, and it’s my name on the room, so – and while this place may be a dive, bloodstains are something I’m pretty sure they’ll notice.”

His voice is mostly steady, but inside he’s freaking out, a bit, because Derek truly looks like he’s ready to bolt – and then Derek nods, and Stiles watches as he slides off the bed. His clothes, indeed, have blood on them, but it looks like every injury has completely healed, and Stiles pushes away the insanity of that in favour of just being grateful. Together, it doesn’t take them long to strip the bed of its sheets and blankets – there’s not much blood on the mattress, thankfully, and cold water is enough to get most of it off; but it still looks like something from a horror movie, and Stiles hopes they can explain it away as a nose bleed – and then they pack their things in silence. Stiles thinks back, suddenly, to something that he said on their second day together – that he doesn’t do awkward silences – and wonders where the hell his voice has gone now. Feels something inside him tighten when Derek goes into the washroom to change into something that doesn’t have blood on it, and then manages a weak smile when Derek comes back into the room.

“Well? Ready to brave reception?”

Derek just stares at him for a moment before he nods, and Stiles tries to figure out what he’s even supposed to do here – and then he decides to leave it for when they’re on the road. A shitty motel on the side of the TransCanada highway is not the place to try to convince Derek that, when Stiles said _fangs and all_ , he actually truly meant it.

\- - -

About fifteen minutes later, and Stiles still hasn’t figured out what he’s meant to be doing here.

They had managed to make peace with the reception desk – although Stiles’ bank account is considerably emptier, now, and Derek had looked so guilty it was painful – and while there had been an incredibly awkward moment upon getting in the jeep – Derek had obviously been expecting Stiles to change his mind and kick him to the curb – they’re on the road, finally. On the road, and only a couple of hours out of Vancouver, and Stiles finally turns down Zeppelin – he’d been letting the music fill the silence between them – and glances over at Derek, who’s scowling at the dashboard like it’s personally offended him. It’s such a quintessentially surly Derek expression that Stiles can’t help a smile – breathes through the sudden wave of affection – and Derek cocks his head, a bit, like he’s sensing Stiles’ reaction, like – like he’s a dog, holy shit.

“Oh, god. I made dog jokes.”

“Stiles –”

“No, man – I told you that you shook like a dog. I so _totally_ knew there was something up with you before you wolfed out –”

“No, you didn’t.”

“I – alright, maybe not. But you can’t deny that my instincts were good.”

Derek’s only reaction is a snort, but he seems to relax, at least a little bit, and Stiles – wants answers, suddenly. Doesn’t want to wait until they’re in Vancouver. Spots a pull-off and takes it – Derek doesn’t say a word – and then pulls the jeep into the nearest parking lot he can find, puts it in park, and turns to Derek, who’s back to watching him with a wary expression. It hits him, suddenly, that he should probably spend some more time thinking this through – that when someone can spout fangs, it’s probably something you shouldn’t necessarily run towards with open arms – but, well. He’s the guy who’s done enough _Supernatural_ marathons for about a dozen people; the guy who has a habit of going looking for ghosts in haunted houses – with every intention of actually finding something. Maybe it’s not so surprising that this isn’t throwing him as badly as it probably should be.

“You seem to be forgetting the bit where I told you I still want you.”

“I’m waiting for you to change your mind.”

“Not happening.”

“Stiles –”

“I mean, hell. There are entire movie franchises built around having a supernatural boyfriend. And while I categorically refuse to be Bella, it’s still really fucking neat that –”

“Boyfriend.”

Derek doesn’t quite say it as a question, but his voice cracks on the single word, and Stiles cuts himself off. Thinks of what he just said – takes in the unsure way Derek is staring at him – and then swallows hard, and gathers his nerve. Wants to take Derek’s hand, but isn’t sure if that would be wanted.

“I – well, yeah. I mean, if you want – if that’s too much –”

“No, it’s – I want – too. I want that, too, I –”

“In that case, man, I’d really like to kiss you.”

He manages to keep his voice steady – for all that his heartbeat is suddenly choking him, because, oh, god, he has a _werewolf boyfriend_ – he has _Derek_ , jesus christ; with his stubble and his jacket and his little smiles and his uncertainties and his quiet sense of humour and his ability to deal with Stiles’ babbling – and Derek – looks at him, for a second, and then drops his eyes down to his chest. Seems to hesitate for a moment, and then puts a gentle hand where his eyes are, right over his heart, and it’s all Stiles can do to not whine under the touch.

“I can hear your heartbeat.”

“I – what?”

“I – can hear when you’re frightened, or – or turned on, or –”

“Derek –”

“And I can smell – fear, or happiness, or arousal –”

_“Jesus.”_

“It would – feel wrong, to not tell you. And if that – if that’s too much –”

“If you don’t kiss me in the next five seconds, I _swear_ _to god_ –”

His voice is shaking, now, in a way that should be embarrassing – but, god, there’s no point in trying to hide it, because Derek can smell him and hear his heartbeat, and _why isn’t Stiles freaking out_ ; why is that so fucking hot and so goddamn _intimate_ he can barely stand in – and Derek makes a sharp little noise and leans across the space between their seats to touch their lips together. It’s a barely there touch – so gentle it almost hurts – and then Stiles curls his hands into Derek’s jacket and pulls him closer, opens his mouth and lets Derek flick his tongue inside, and it’s like Derek finally stops holding back. There’s a hand on the back of Stiles’ head, suddenly, fingers in his hair, and Derek’s kissing him like he needs him to breathe, and Stiles can only close his eyes and go with it – getting kissed by a fucking werewolf in some parking lot on the side of the TransCanada highway, and it’s one of the most amazing things to ever happen to him.

He’s not sure how long it lasts – only knows that by the time Derek pulls back again, Stiles’ lips are sore and his face is flushed and Derek’s cheeks are a deep red, and Stiles – can’t stop the grin. Can’t breathe for how good he suddenly feels. Can’t help but smile his foolish face off, and Derek follows suit – gives him that little smile that Stiles is so coming to love – and, oh, god. Stiles is so far gone it’s ridiculous – two weeks, god, how can he be this far gone in _two weeks_ – but he can’t even care. His boyfriend fought a grizzly bear for him. Stiles is pretty sure he’s allowed to be as happy as he wants right now.

\- - -

Two hours later, they’re in downtown Vancouver, and Stiles is staring to remember why he hates Vancouver’s one-way streets with a burning passion. He’s fine with driving in Vancouver – loves it, in fact – but he was in Ontario for a couple of months, and he seems to have forgotten some of the shortcuts, and it’s rather insultingly like being thrown back to the first few months he was in the city.

“Swear to god, if we see _one more_ route-slaughtering one-way –”

“We could always find another motel.”

Derek sounds more hopeful than saddened by the idea – they’re currently trying to find Cora’s apartment, which happens to be located right downtown, in an area that Stiles isn’t all that familiar with – and Stiles spares him a quick glance before he gets his eyes back on the road. Hesitates for a moment – Derek had been quietly content after their talk in the parking lot, that little smile never leaving his lips; and Stiles doesn’t want to spoil that – but he also wants to know if he’s reading Derek right.

“Are you – did you not want to be staying with your sister?”

For a moment, Derek says nothing, and Stiles concentrates on trying to figure out how to get them back to Georgia Street when _none of the damn roads_ seem to be going where he wants them go. Then, Derek shifts slightly, and Stiles glances over to see him studying the dashboard, some of his regular pensiveness back – and then Stiles thinks of something that he probably should have thought of before. Something that makes his stomach hurt a bit, even though he’d understand.

“Or, I mean – for all that, you know, we’re official, and all, if you don’t want me to meet her –”

“What?”

“I just meant –”

"No, it’s – I just – don’t want this trip to be over, yet.”

And Derek – is back to staring down at the dashboard, looking like he’s just admitted some horrible secret, and Stiles’ stomach is back to hurting for only good reasons. He doesn’t bother to stop a smile, and then – sappiness be damned – reaches over to put a hand on Derek’s knee, resting his fingers lightly against the denim, and loving the way Derek presses up into the touch.

“One more night, then. We find a motel, dump out stuff – and then go exploring, or something. Just the two of us. Sound like a plan?”

Derek doesn’t say anything, but Stiles glances over to watch him nod – that small smile back – and Stiles wonders, distantly, about the quiet, surly man he’d picked up on the side of the highway only two weeks ago – such a change from the werewolf sitting beside him. It’s enough to make him tighten his fingers on Derek’s knee, and he has to breathe for a second before he can speak.

“Alright, then. So, there’s this really ridiculously coloured motel on Main Street that’s used a whole bunch of times in Supernatural – ya know, the one with the brothers and the angel, who –”

“The green one?”

“Oh my _god,_ how do you even – the fact that you _know_ that –”

“I – researched some of the filming locations. When I decided to move here. I –”

“Oh my god, I’m dating a werewolf who watches Supernatural. You’re actually perfect. How is this – am I dreaming? This can’t be real life. Stuff like this doesn’t happen in real life.”

Derek’s only reaction is a soft snort, but he’s looking more than a little bit pleased, and Stiles can’t stop grinning as he gets his eyes back on the road and watches for a place to turn the jeep around. The sooner they get settled in for the night, the sooner they can start exploring the city together.

\- - -

They find the motel in pretty much no time – and Stiles can’t believe how endearing he still finds those ridiculous light green walls – and drop their stuff – after Stiles insists on Derek taking a photo of him in front of the motel, even though he already has several – and then they go.

Stiles parks the jeep – the last thing he wants to deal with is parking in downtown Vancouver – and then they hop on a bus down Main Street and along Hastings, until they’re able to walk right down to the harbour, where they end up staring at the mountains; and it’s still one of the most gorgeous things Stiles has ever seen. The sun’s just starting to set, and there are lots of little planes taking off from the water; and Stiles can’t believe how good it is to be back. For all that he only moved cities because his dad got transferred, he’s not surprised that Vancouver has already become home, in the same way that Toronto once was.

“You’re happy here, aren’t you.”

“Hard to look at those mountains and be sad.”

Derek just nods, never taking his eyes from the mountains, and Stiles – needs a photo, suddenly. Pulls out his camera – Derek glances at him, but doesn’t say a word before he goes back to staring out across the harbour – and then takes a few steps back, until he’s got Derek – leaning against the railing - framed on each side by the mountains – and then he presses the button. It’s gorgeous as is – Derek’s shoulders and back, with the mountains on either side – but Stiles wants to be able to see his face, too. He has no idea how Derek feels about cameras – he doesn’t know how anyone as gorgeous as Derek could be camera-shy, but he’s been surprised by Derek more than once on this trip – and he pauses for a second before lifting the camera again.

“Hey, um – mind turning around for me?”

For a second, Derek doesn’t move – and then he turns to look at Stiles; and when Stiles holds the camera up a bit higher, Derek damn near rolls his eyes, but he leans back against the railing, and – he’s not smiling, exactly, but he still somehow looks incredibly happy, and Stiles can’t stop his grin as he takes the photo. It’s just as gorgeous as the first one – even more so, actually, because he can see Derek’s face this time – and he’s just slid the camera into his bag – still grinning ridiculously, his heart going all crazy inside his chest – when Derek’s hands are suddenly on his hips, and Stiles loses his breath when he’s pulled in close, Derek pressing his face into Stiles’ neck.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“You love it.”

Derek’s only reaction is a quiet huff of breath against Stiles’ neck, and then he tightens his grip around him – heedless of the people around them – and just breathes against him, deep breaths that tickle against Stiles’ skin, and – holy shit, that’s a werewolf breathing against his neck. It’s a sudden epiphany, and it makes his heartbeat go even crazier; and not only is Stiles not freaking out, but – jesus, is Derek scenting him?

“Dude. Are you smelling me?”

Derek goes very still against him, and then starts to pull away, and Stiles – belatedly – realizes how bad that had sounded. Wraps his arms around Derek to hold him in place – though, distantly, he’s pretty sure that the only reason he’s stopping Derek from moving is the fact that Derek is letting him – and rubs a hand along his back, his knees a little weak with the realization.

“No, I mean - because, um. That’s – that’s totally cool. That’s really fucking hot, actually – like, if that’s a thing you do, I am _totally_ down with it, and –”

Derek makes a noise against Stiles’ neck that sounds almost pained, and then he sucks in a deep breath – like he’s been starving for it – and Stiles feels his knees go even weaker. Tightens his grip around Derek as Derek keeps his face pressed into his neck, taking deep breaths – and yeah. Maybe Stiles really is well suited for this werewolf boyfriend situation, because all the wolf stuff – the scenting and the heart-beat stuff – is really fucking working for Stiles, in a way that makes him want to forget exploring the city and just got back to their crappy little motel.

“So, uh. You got anywhere else you wanna see tonight? Or –”

Derek makes a noise that sounds almost like a laugh, and then presses a kiss against Stiles’ neck – his stubble scraping across sensitive skin – and Stiles very vehemently does not whimper. Tightens his grip a little bit further, and holds on to Derek as Derek pulls back to look at him, his cheeks gone all flushed and his lips turned up and his eyes so fond Stiles can barely stand to look at him.

“Did you have anywhere in mind?”  

“I – I dunno, man. You’re – you’re the one who’s new here. I’ve already had plenty of time to explore, so whatever you –”

“I’ll have plenty of time to explore later.”

He’s still smiling, a bit, and his voice sounds a little hoarse, and Stiles just manages to stop himself from nodding frantically in a way that would probably be really unattractive. Tries to think over the way Derek’s fingers are drawing circles against his hipbones through his jeans, sending little bolts of heat down his legs.

“I – right, then. In that case, there’s this really fucking cool motel that was used in filming –”

Derek cut him off with an actual grin – Stiles actually has to stop speaking to stare at it; he thinks of that expression about _staring into the sun_ , and can't even muster the energy to give himself hell for being such a sap – and then he pulls away, a bit, but still slides his hand into Stiles’, and Stiles can’t even pretend to himself that his chest isn’t going tight at the sentimentality of that - and oh, god. Derek is smiling at him, and Stiles is so turned on and flustered he can barely think, and Derek can probably hear every single skip of Stiles' racing heartbeat, and it is going to be one hell a long bus ride back to that motel.


	6. Chapter 6

By the time they make it back to the hotel – and Derek’s hand had been resting on his thigh for the entire damn bus ride – Stiles is surprised he’s even coordinated enough to lock the door behind them. Barely gets that done when he’s being crowed up against the wall, and then – and then Derek proceeds to treat him like he’s made of glass. Touches him like Stiles might break – his hands gentle and his teeth barely there against Stiles’ lips and skin; and while they’ve done it slow and gentle before, this is on a whole new level, and Stiles can feel the way his chest is starting to ache – and by the time Derek’s stripped both of them of their clothes, the movements easy and soft, Stiles is feeling shaky in a way that he’s pretty damn sure has nothing to do with lust. Ends up curled up in Derek’s lap on the bed, with Derek leaning against the headboard, his cock hard underneath Stiles and his hands massive against Stiles’ back, and his lips drawing painfully soft paths across his neck and collarbone; and Stiles is either going to start tearing up or lose the ability to breathe, because this is – so not what he was expecting. What with the whole werewolf reveal thing, he’d been expecting to be tossed around like a ragdoll – and he’d have loved every second of him, he’s sure – but this, here, is nothing like that. This feels like Derek’s worshipping him, and Stiles doesn’t know whether to be turned on or freaked out or flattered or all of them at the same time; and maybe Derek hears or smells some of the confusion, jesus, because he gets his head out of Stiles’ neck to meet his eyes, somehow managing to look desperately turned on while simultaneously looking like he could keep up the achingly slow pace forever.

“Are you – alright?”

And Stiles – doesn’t even know what to say. Just nods, tightens his grip on Derek – because, any confusion aside, he _is_ alright. Doesn’t even know how to express how very much alright this is. It hits him, suddenly, that if he’d just kept driving, that day, when he passed Derek on the road, he would have never gotten here – would have never even known what he was missing – and it’s enough to make him kiss Derek again. He knows it probably feels desperate, but Derek’s kissing him just as hard in return, and when they break apart again, Derek’s panting; and he looks at Stiles for a moment, as though searching for something, before he drops his eyes down and starts drawing his fingers in circles against Stiles’ back.

“I haven’t – it’s been a long time since I – was with someone who knows what I am.”

“Well, feel free to break out the kinky werewolf sniffing thing, then.”

He’s going for some kind of levity – something to ease the way Derek sounds absolutely lost – but it comes out a hell of a lot breathier than he’d intended – comes out completely serious – and Derek closes his eyes on a sharp little noise before he does exactly that. Pulls Stiles in even closer and buries his face back into his neck, inhaling deeply, and – _jesus_. Stiles probably shouldn’t be as turned on by that as he is, but he wants, suddenly, to know every little thing Derek’s been keeping back – wants all the little parts of Derek that he’s been keeping to himself – and he swallows hard as he digs his fingers harder into Derek’s skin, tipping his head back in a way that probably shouldn’t feel as instinctive as it does. Feels his cock jump at the groan that rumbles through Derek; and then Stiles is being kissed within an inch of his life, until Derek finally breaks away to breathe against his mouth, his hands still tracing patterns into Stiles’ skin.

“I – if you want –”

And then Derek seems to lose his words – Stiles can actually see the way his skin flushes, before he leans in to kiss Stiles again – and Stiles lets him, for a long, wonderful moment, before he pulls back again, and waits until Derek looks at him before he presses a hand against Derek’s cheek – he’s pretty sure he’s got more than the green light to be a sap – and makes his own voice work.

“If I want what?”

He sounds about as wrecked as he feels, and Derek stares right back at him for a long moment before he drops his eyes again, one of his massive hands coming around to press against Stiles’ stomach, resting there and making Stiles very aware of how hard he is. Very aware of the fact that Derek hasn’t even put a hand on his dick yet and Stiles is already ready to fall apart, everything inside him flaring hot and desperate as Derek’s fingers curl into the hair above his cock.

_“Derek –”_

“I have – lube. In my bag. If you –”

And Stiles – feels himself flash hot, all over, suddenly so turned on and so nervous it’s enough to make his entire body actually physically hurt, and Derek raises his eyes to meet his. He looks about as vulnerable as Stiles feels, and Stiles – doesn’t want to say no, but isn’t sure he wants to say yes, either. Knows that he trusts Derek, but it’s still – something he might have to work up to, yet. Opens his mouth – though what, exactly, he’s going to say, he’s got no idea – but Derek’s hand is resting over his heart, suddenly, his expression turning down into a bit of a frown, and, oh, god. Of course. Derek can hear his heartbeat – can smell when he’s turned on, or freaked out, or –

“I didn’t say I had to be the one doing the fucking.”

It’s easily the crudest thing Stiles has ever heard Derek say – for all that he looks like he could break someone in half with his little finger, he doesn’t have much of a mouth on him to go with the brooding persona – and Stiles is so distracted by the sound of Derek saying _fuck_ that it takes him a second to register the actual words. When he does, he nearly chokes on the wave of heat that slams through him – starts in his stomach and burns up through the rest of his body – and all he can do is stare at Derek as Derek’s lips turn up into a pleased little smile, before he slides down on the bed, somehow maneuvering them both until he’s lying on his back and Stiles is straddling his hips, and – Stiles is either going to hyperventilate, or come all over himself, or both.

“I – are you sure?”

“I’m versatile.”

And Derek – actually fucking grins at him. Wolf-like, even, with all of his teeth showing. Looks incredibly satisfied with himself and with Stiles’ reaction – looks so blindingly hot it’s not even fair – and Stiles actually has to close his eyes as he tries to get himself together. When he opens them again, it’s because Derek’s giving him a not so subtle nudge, and Stiles somehow makes his legs work enough to get him across the carpet, and over to Derek’s backpack. Flushes hot under the way Derek watches him cross the room, and by the time he’s back on the bed, his knees have gone all wobbly and he’s grateful to be able to slide back onto Derek, straddling his thighs and placing the tube of lube on Derek’s stomach. Has a moment of freaking out, then – has no idea what he’s supposed to do next – but Derek’s looking a little bit uncertain again, too, and Stiles – just can’t have that. Wants this so badly he hurts. Wants to make Derek feel as good as he’s been making Stiles feel.

“I’m not – I don’t know –”

“You ever – done this to yourself? Your fingers, or –”

Stiles flushes even hotter at the raggedness of Derek’s voice, and manages to shake his head; and Derek stares at him for a moment before he takes the tube off his stomach and smears lube all over his own fingers, very obviously not looking at Stiles as he takes his hand, getting lube all over both of them, and then – and then slides their hands down between his legs and underneath him; and oh my _god_ , Stiles is going to absolutely fucking pass out with how unbelievably hot that is.

“Alright?”

Stiles can’t speak. Can only nod, his throat gone all tight, and – Derek’s blushing, again, his eyes sliding shut, and – jesus. Stiles is pretty sure something inside his brain actually breaks as Derek starts to work a finger inside himself, slow and steady, as Stiles can’t do anything but helplessly watch; and it’s only by the time that Derek’s slid a second one in, his hips twisting up into his own touch, that Stiles has finally learned how to breathe again, and found the guts to trace one of his own fingers around the slick rim; and the noise Derek makes is hotter than the sun. It punches through Stiles, and it’s all Stiles can do to keep his eyes open when Derek opens his own to look at him, looking so turned it almost hurts.

“You can – another.”

“You’re sure?”

“I – do this a lot.”

 _“Jesus_ , Derek.”

Derek’s only response is an almost shy smile – small and pleased and so fucking gorgeous; and, god, Stiles is definitely getting those pieces of Derek he hadn’t been before, though this is so not how he had been expecting things to go – and then Derek closes his eyes as Stiles takes him at his word, and slides one of his own fingers in next to Derek’s two, trying to not hyperventilate the insane heat and tightness. It’s enough to make Derek twitch up against him, mouth falling open; and then Derek’s sliding his own fingers out, clutching at the blanket beneath them, and Stiles steadies himself and takes the hint, doing his best to take over. Carefully works all three fingers inside, and then goes still as Derek bucks up hard against him, his breath coming sharp and both hands clinging at the blanket now, and – jesus, those are claws. Those are actually goddamn claws, tearing into the sheets, and Stiles doesn’t even care what it says about him that that’s so hot it’s hard to breathe.

“You wolfing out on me?”

And – alright. Maybe it’s not quite fair that he carefully curls his fingers as he says it – slides them slow along the inside of Derek body; because, god, his prostate has got to be here _somewhere_ , and Stiles is damn well going to find it – because it takes Derek a good few seconds before he manages to speak. He’s too busy clawing – literally – at the blankets underneath him, arching up hard into the touch; and Stiles’ can’t stop the burst of pride, even as Derek manages to get his eyes open, looking both unsure and desperately turned on, his skin even more flushed than before.

“I – normally I have to control – if that’s – too much, if you don’t want –”

“No way, big guy. I said bring on the kinky werewolf stuff, and I meant it.”

And – yeah. This is so definitely not fair, making Derek try to have a conversation while Stiles’ fingers are in his ass; but there’s something insanely hot about watching Derek fight for words – and then Stiles’ sentimental heart is clenching, because Derek looks almost grateful, suddenly, his eyes softening and his lips turning up into a smile, even as his cock twitches between them, and Stiles just has to kiss him. Leans in close – barely flinches at the feel of Derek’s wolfed-out hands on his back, the claws not even coming close to breaking the skin – and then Stiles somehow keeps up the movement of his fingers as Derek kisses him until he can’t breathe. He has no idea if he’s doing it right – no idea if he should be spreading them, or curling them in different ways than he already is – but, based on the way Derek’s hips can’t seem to stay still, and the way he’s gasping for air and pushing up hard against him, Stiles must be doing something right; and when he finally pulls away again, Derek’s eyes have gone red. Bright red as he stares up at him and pants for air, and Stiles feels the sight of it shudder all the way through him, and – yeah, he really is well suited for this werewolf boyfriend thing, because that is _insanely hot_ , god, the fact that Derek trusts his enough to wolf out with him; and he knows Derek can smell his reaction, because he closes his eyes on a groan and then reaches down to – carefully – pull Stiles’ hand free, his red eyes going wide and his skin so flushed it looks painful.

“Now. Please.”

“I – how –”

“However you – hands and knees, or – back, or –”

“Back. I want –” Stiles bites it off, unable to make himself actually say something as ridiculously cliché as, _I want to see your face_ – but Derek must get it, because he nods, and Stiles stares at him for a second before he fumbles more lube onto his hand and slicks it along the length of his cock – nearly whines at how good it feels, and then damn near whines again at the way Derek sucks in a breath at the sound – and then he remembers something that makes him curse and glance toward their bags, as though expecting condoms to spring up from out of nowhere. They’d gone through the box that Derek had had with him, and, christ, if this isn’t going to happen now because Stiles is an idiot who forgot to buy new ones, then he’s quite possibly going to murder himself.

“ _Condoms_. Fuck. I forgot to – please tell me you have –”

Derek just shakes his head, and Stiles is actually going to punch himself in the face – and then Derek’s hand slides around his cock, and Stiles is so busy going all shaky and bracing himself against Derek’s chest that he almost misses the hesitant words.

“Werewolves can’t carry diseases.”

It takes him a second – Derek’s hand is really goddamn distracting, and Stiles is trying to not bite through his lip at the touch – and then the words sink in, and he pauses. Thinks about what he would be agreeing to; thinks about the way Derek had grown back his skin after having a good bit of it torn off – and then he nods – can barely breathe for the wave of heat – and Derek makes a relieved noise and nearly melts Stiles’ brain when he spreads his legs further and wraps them around Stiles, and – jesus, that’s a sight. Derek’s skin is flushed and his hair’s a mess and his lips are almost as red as his eyes; and then Derek nudges up against him, and Stiles swallows hard and takes the hint.

“So I just –”

“I’ll tell you if you go to fast.”

And – jesus. Derek sounds wrecked, and Stiles is pretty sure that, considering who’s fucking who here, he’s the one who’s supposed to be doing the reassuring; but, given that he’s losing his virginity, of sorts, maybe it’s not so surprising. Takes his cock in his hand and presses it against the entrance to Derek’s body, and then just kind of – starts to push, a moment of pressure before the muscles give a bit; and then all he can do is gasp for air and stare at Derek, his mind flashing white. Underneath him, Derek is shifting, squirming against him – can’t seem to make up his mind about where he wants to go, his face pulled into something that looks desperate – and then his hands are on Stiles’ back, urging him on, and Stiles – can’t do anything but obey. Pushes forward slowly – thinks there should be more finesse than this; but can’t think to figure it out – and nearly comes right there, as Derek bites out a noise that sounds almost hurt and wraps his legs tighter around him to pull him in close, slamming Stiles in deep and punching the air right out of his lungs.

_“Jesus.”_

Distantly, he hears Derek make that little noise again, and he forces his eyes open; meets Derek’s wide red ones, and nearly loses it all over again at the look on his face. His mouth is hanging open, and he’s absolutely gorgeous; and then he rocks his hips up, and Stiles tries to move – pulls back a bit, and shoves forward again, fighting the orgasm that’s already threatening to burn up through him – only to force his hips still when Derek grimaces and twitches underneath him.

_“Stiles –”_

“Don’t – want to hurt –”

“I can – _werewolf_ – I can – take it, just –”

“But –”

_“Please.”_

The single word – the desperation in it – seems to cut right through him; and Stiles squeezes his eyes shut as he concentrates on not losing it before they’ve even begun. Blocks out the sight of Derek as he tries to get himself together, and, god, it’s like being a goddamn teenager all over again – and then Derek curses underneath him and tightens his hands against his back, and Stiles opens his eyes and stares down at Derek’s red eyes. Can barely think over the tightness around him – rocks his hips again, a few slow strokes that have Derek squirming underneath him, before Stiles has to go still again. Nearly loses it for good at the pained sound Derek makes in response.

 _“Stiles_. God, _move_ , please, just –”

“Can’t. Won’t last. You – god, you –”

“I don’t _care_ , just –”

“Want to make this good.”

He’s not sure how he musters enough brain cells for a coherent sentence, but he does, and it drags a noise from Derek that sounds part moan and part laugh. Makes Derek press his claws down a little harder against Stiles’ back – still not breaking skin, amazingly, but unmistakably _there_ , which does _nothing_ at all to help Stiles keep it together –

“You already have. Now _move_.”

The implications of that are barely done hitting him – is stomach is barely done tightening over how goddamn much he cares about the werewolf lying underneath him – when Derek gets a hand around the back of his neck and pulls him down for a kiss, hard and desperate and all kinds of perfect; and Stiles finally stops fighting it. Kisses Derek as thoroughly as he possibly can, and then pulls back again and lets himself go – and for all that he knows he’s got pretty much no finesse, here, the slick slide of his cock seems to work for both of them; because Derek’s panting for air in no time. Panting and twisting up against Stiles’ body, his eyes fixed on Stiles in a way that should maybe be intimidating – but all it does is burn Stiles even higher, and he finally shakes his head and bites down hard against the rush of an orgasm that he knows he can’t stop. Wants to get a hand on Derek – needs to coordinate himself enough to – to – doesn’t know if Derek is even close, and, god, he wants Derek to be there, too – and then Derek slides his hands down to Stiles’ hips and digs in, hard. Pulls him in even closer, grinding Stiles’ dick deep inside him, and Stiles shouts with it. Tries to get out a warning – but Derek simply tightens his grip on him.

“It’s fine – I want – I _want_ you to, come on, Stiles, just –”

Stiles comes so hard his teeth nearly hurt from it. Distantly, he can hear a noise that sounds like someone’s punching him, but he can’t care. Can only squeeze his eyes shut and ride it out, everything inside him locking up and then washing white hot – and by the time he comes back, he’s collapsed against Derek’s sweaty chest, and Derek is running a shaky hand through his hair. Pressing his claws down just enough for Stiles to know they’re there, and – he flushes anew against Derek’s chest, suddenly, as Derek’s hands slide down and along his back, sharp little lines of pressure – and Stiles pulls back to look at him, and finds Derek looking more than a little desperate. Glances down between them to where Derek's still hard and flushed, and then swallows hard and pulls out of Derek with a wince – doesn’t miss the way Derek’s entire body twitches; the way his mouth opens on a nearly silent hiss – and slides as far down the bed as he can go. His limbs feel like lead, but this, at least, he knows how to do –

And when he gets his mouth around Derek, there's the sound of a groan, followed by the rip of fabric underneath Derek’s claws. It sends a new burn of heat through Stiles’ exhausted body, and he hesitates for a moment before he traces the entrance to Derek’s body with a finger – then pushes two, then three, back in, as Derek makes an encouraging sound and twists up against him in a way that has Stiles' dick twitching - and then Stiles just closes his eyes and lets his mouth do what’s already started to feel completely natural. Pays more attention to the press of his fingers, moving them slow and slick inside the heat of Derek's body, deliberating and curling in a way that he hopes feels good – and when Derek finally goes absolutely dead silent and shakes himself apart, the headboard cracking from where he’d thrown his hands up to hold on, it’s one of the best things Stiles has ever felt and heard and seen. Strokes him through it, with his mouth and fingers, and then makes his exhausted limbs work to get him back up the bed, where he collapses against Derek and goes all shaky inside as the werewolf mutters his name and wraps his arms around him, the movement gentle enough to make Stiles' heart hurt. Thinks about saying something – or about trying to clean them up, maybe – but just the thought is too much work, and he finally closes his eyes and lets himself go, clinging to the feeling of Derek’s arms around him and the rise and fall of his chest underneath him.


	7. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the crazy long wait on this last little bit, and thank you so, so much to everyone who's left me encouraging feedback along the way! Every comment has been so very much appreciated, and I'm so glad people have enjoyed this story. ♥

When Stiles wakes up again, it’s to the sound of voices in the hall; but everything is warm and comfortable, and he’s smiling before he even opens his eyes. Lying next to him, looking more relaxed than Stiles has probably ever seen him, Derek is still asleep; and Stiles takes a moment to just watch him before he stretches and snuggles in a bit closer. Doesn’t want to wake him – not when he looks so peaceful, for once – but he rests his head, at least, close to Derek’s shoulder, and settles one hand on Derek’s bare chest, his eyes sliding shut again as he lets the lingering exhaustion pull him back down.

\- - -

When Stiles wakes up again, it’s because there are arms wrapped tight around him, and he’s been tugged in against Derek’s chest, with Derek breathing slow and warm against his neck. He takes a moment to breathe through the wave of heat – the way he flushes so hot it’s painful, a flash of arousal burning low in his gut – before he takes a steadying breath and curls his fingers around Derek’s arms, unable to stop a stupid little smile when Derek tugs him in even closer, somehow.

“Sleep okay?”

And, oh, jesus. It’s a low rumble against Stiles’ ear, and it vibrates clean down through his chest, and he has to work to find the right words – and to put them in the correct order – before he trusts himself to speak. Opens his mouth – just as Derek presses a stubble-scratchy kiss against his neck, and Stiles’ knees go week, notwithstanding the fact that he’s already horizontal. Can’t stop himself from tilting his head to give Derek a bit more room to work with; and by the time he’s done squirming against the blankets and trying to remember just how to breathe, he can feel the way Derek’s smiling against his neck, and Stiles’ can’t do anything but hold on tight to Derek and grin like an idiot in return, everything inside him hurting in a way that feels nothing but good.

\- - -

One Month Later

“Dude. You weren’t kidding.”

“Oh?”

“He’s smoking hot.”

“Scott –”

“Like – I’m straight, and he’s hot. Wow. You really scored, didn’t you?”

“You do realize he can hear you, right?”

Scott – the bastard – only looks slightly embarrassed by this; and Stiles is grinning too hard to care, anyway. Across the parking lot, Derek’s loading groceries into Stiles’ jeep, while Scott and Stiles return the cart – and Stiles would bet money that Derek’s cheeks are probably burning. In the month they’ve been here – Derek job searching while living with his sister, and Stiles living with his father, and Stiles and Derek spending every bit of their free time either in Derek’s bed, or out exploring the city together – Stiles has realized time and again that Derek isn’t exactly comfortable with any kind of compliment. It’s something that Stiles is planning to work on, given enough time – and given the fact that Derek has taken to looking at him like he hung the moon whenever he thinks Stiles isn’t looking, he’s pretty hopeful that they’re going to have a long, long time together.

“And he really fought off a bear, all on his own?”

“Claws and fangs and everything, man. I owe him –”

“Your life. I’ll well aware. If he ever needs a favour – if there’s ever anything I can help him with – you just let me know. Cause I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

And – oh, god, Scott. He’s staring at him and looking all sad and puppy-eyed now, and Stiles has to swallow, hard. Has a moment of gratitude that Scott is in his life, and that he was able to come visit – that he’s thinking of moving out to Vancouver, even – and then he pulls him in for a hug; because if there’s one thing Stiles isn’t, it’s afraid of being a sap, and he’s pretty sure that Scott’s earned a hug with that line. 

“Right back at ya, buddy. Now, how about we take all that glorious food back to Cora’s and play video games all night?”

“Sounds perfect.”

Scott’s smiling by the time he pulls away again, and Stiles gives him a gentle bump on the shoulder before they turn their feet in the direction of Stiles’ jeep, where Derek is waiting for them.

\- - -

Later that night, Scott is passed out on a cot on Cora’s living room floor, and Derek and Stiles are wrapped up together under the sheets in Derek’s room, with Stiles’ face pressed inelegantly into the side of Derek’s neck. He’s pretty sure he might be getting a little drool there – his mouth really is kind of at an awkward angle – but, judging by the way Derek’s holding him tight enough to nearly hurt, he really doesn’t give a damn, so Stiles decides to not worry about it. Simply holds on tight in return, until Derek – the absolute ridiculous wonderful sap – presses a kiss into his hair; and then Stiles has to pull away to look at him. The only light in the room is through the window, from a streetlight – but it’s enough to see that Derek’s looking a bit embarrassed, which serves to makes Stiles’ chest hurt, and to set free a flock of butterflies in his stomach. He’s beginning to realize just how much he would really like to see that expression for the rest of his life.

“I really care about you, you know.”

His voice isn’t quite steady; and, even in the dark, he can see the way Derek swallows, hard – but he doesn’t look away, not even for a second. Simply tightens his hold on Stiles, and stares up at him.

“I – you, too. If you hadn’t – that day, back in –”

“Yeah. Pretty sure that pulling over was the single best decision I’ve ever made.”

It’s completely honest, and he feels a little bit vulnerable for a second; but he’s pretty sure that Derek is actually full-on blushing, now, and that’s more than enough for Stiles. He can’t help but grin – takes in that beautifully embarrassed expression for another second – before he leans in to press their mouths together; and by the time he pulls away again, it’s Derek’s face that ends up buried in Stiles’ neck, this time; and Stiles barely catches the words that get mouthed against his skin.

“I think it was the single best decision you’ve ever made, too.”

It’s low and muffled but still audible, and it sounds like it takes a lot for Derek to say it; and Stiles swallows through the ache in his chest as he pulls Derek in even tighter, closing his eyes and pressing his face into Derek’s hair as he tries to breathe through the feeling of Derek smiling against his neck, his heart slamming against Stiles’ in a way that Stiles never wants to live without.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone fancies being tumblr buddies (http://twisting-vine-x.tumblr.com/), I'm always happy to make new friends. ♥


End file.
